Breaking the Cycle
by iguanablogger
Summary: EDIT: We've all heard of the common Assassin's Creed Mary Sue- a beautiful girl who magically falls through her xbox into the somethingth-century and immediately captures the heart of Hot-Assassin-Of-Your-Choice. What if we replaced this Mary Sue with your average teenage girl, and what if she could freely travel to whichever time period she wished- and back? (updated sporadically)
1. Guards are sometimes nice people

"Oh crap," I mutter as the screen suddenly goes blank and the scope retracts, power dying shortly after the camera displays the message 'battery exhausted', "That was my last set!"

I shake my head and replace the camera in its holster, hidden beneath my pouch. The pouch is made of lovely silk, and is completely inconspicuous. If the guards ever searched me, however, I would have some explaining to do…

"I'll have to go back for more batteries later," As I continue to talk to myself, I start to walk into the setting sun, "For now though, I can still have some fun."

"_Salve_," A man nods his head at me as he strolls past, grinning. Guess he's in a good mood… Or maybe he's just polite. Either way, it was certainly nice to hear. I smile back at him and proceed on my route to the _Mercato Nouvo. _

The _Mercato _is a marvelous place, and also the site of most of my photo sessions. Of course, taking the pictures isn't always easy. Occasionally, someone does see me huddling off in the corner holding what appears to be a large rectangle with a telescope attached, and it flashes like a firecracker. And then they get curious…That usually means I have to call it a day and scuttle back to the Door before things get hairy and I get searched.

Oh…I should start from the beginning, shouldn't I?

It's pretty simple, really. I was just going about my business back in the good ol' year 2011; feeding my cat, playing Assassin's Creed (the only video game I can play continuously), animating digitally, going to school- normal, modern things. And then randomly, out of no place, I got kicked out of my apartment.

Sucks, right?

If I'd had a good lawyer, I probably could've kept the place, but I didn't. So I lost it. And I had to go somewhere else. Well, I found somewhere else- an old family house. It used to belong to my great-great-aunt, a European immigrant whose parents brought her to America early last century. She died a few years ago, but I didn't want the house. It's sorta creepy, you know? And I wanted my own place.

Well, now I didn't have a choice, so I moved in. I rent out the upstairs during the year and live on the main floor. It's pretty nice, a little removed from the city, but still-

Whoops, I'm sidetracking, aren't I?

Sorry. Anyway, once winter-vacation rolled around, I decided I was going to clean out the basement and turn it into my new animating studio! Cool, huh? Yeah, I thought so. Only the place was a lot dustier than I ever could have dreamed. And the stuff I found down there! I couldn't even recognize half of it, it was so old. I had to bring my laptop down and wiki everything I couldn't distinguish.

So everything was going fine until I stumbled upon it. The wardrobe. It's not a dresser, or a bureau- this thing is an honest-to-goodness _wardrobe. _And it looked like two hundred years old.

Well, against all my best judgments, I opened it up. I expected mothballs, actually. A horrid stench, perhaps, maybe some half-eaten clothes.

I didn't expect a window to the nineteenth century.

My jaw dropped in astonishment and I just watched as the snow swirled outside the cabin, a fire crackled in the hearth, and a middle-aged woman prattled off to her nodding husband.

It took me a long time to realize that I could actually _enter _the window. However when I did, I found that I was completely visible, and according to the couple- I just stepped out of their closet.

After some quick questions, I learned that I was in what appeared to be the house of my great-great-aunt's parents, who lived in the country of Lithuania, in the year 1897.

I dove back in the closet and landed in my dusty basement, scared out of my wits. I slammed the wardrobe closed and breathed for a while. Just…breathed.

A few months of experimentation revealed that I could visit any time period I wished, with a little tweaking. Since the Renaissance was a time period I enjoyed, I did often travel to fifteenth-century Italy (where I was _very _pleased to discover the Auditore family really _did _exist). 

Another thing I discovered is that although I can travel to any century, global time remains the same. As a consequence, if I wanted to visit the year 1476 at two o'clock, I would have to leave home at seven o'clock, as Italy is seven hours ahead of the Midwest. This is why I almost always appear on the streets of Florence during the dusky hours.

And of course before I left I visited my local Renaissance fair, in order to properly prepare myself. I went to the two-hour presentations discussing etiquette, I asked the doctors about their wares, and I picked up some more-or-less authentic looking dresses (though they're pretty itchy, seeing as they're not exactly made of silk and they actually came with instructions on how to put them on).

Anyway, enough about how I got here.

Minutes were passing, and the sun was already below the horizon. I've been here for a few hours already, and I woke up early to get some of the best shots, so it figures. I stifle a yawn with my right hand, shaking myself as I come closer to the alley. See, as in Lithuania I appeared from a closet, in Italy I appear from a broken cupboard laying in a muddy backstreet. It's the only way to get in and out. Occasionally, someone will move the cupboard and I'll show up somewhere else entirely, and sometimes I get lost. But I always make it home in time for lunch.

"Hey beautiful," I turn, surprised that someone else would be this close to a dark alley this time of evening. Blushing slightly, I notice another girl, maybe slightly older than me, with a group of young men approaching her. They brush past me as though I were invisible.

The girl was pretty; I'll give her that. Long, black hair, dark eyes, wonderful, almost glowing skin...Strictly as an artist, I could tell when a female was considered 'very attractive'.

She giggles as the boys admire her loveliness. To me though it sorta looks like she's going through the motions. When she waves her wrist, fanning herself, flashing a smile- she's done this all before. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised to learn the guys have, too.

However if the men had come up to _me _instead of _her, _I wouldn't be nearly as casual. They were tall guys, powerful looking. They didn't wear any unusual clothing and they didn't seem to be part of a clan or anything. Just some boys on the street looking for some fun, that's all. And some of them were rather pretty-looking boys.

Silently, I wish I could revive my camera and take a good shot before turning away and heading down the alley. Sure enough, there's the rotting wood cupboard, waiting patiently for me to climb aboard. But just before I open the door and step back into the future, a noise captures my attention. It's coming from the street, and ends just as abruptly as it begun.

I frown, playing it through my mind again…It sounded almost like a shriek, but cut off in the middle. So more like a sharp gasp, or something. Perhaps the Flirtatious Young Men and the Beautiful Woman were engaging in some sort of ancient Renaissance ritual forever lost to the ages?

In any event, I turn back to the street and shuffle towards the commotion. What meets my eyes causes my body to lock up in horror.

The girl has a rag over her mouth and is being dragged by two of the men into the alleyway opposite mine, while another of them stands guard by its mouth. For a heart-pounding moment, her illustrious black eyes meet with mine and scream for help. But I can't move. My blood has gone cold and my limbs are tingling. Did I really just witness that? Are they kidnapping her? Or worse?

Briefly, I consider running back into the cupboard and slamming the door. I'm not even supposed to be here- maybe it was that girl's destiny to be raped in an alley. No, no I can't do that. I won't do that. She needs help, and I have to help her. But how? I'm just a kid with a dead camera!

Suddenly I'm running across the street. A loud, painful cry escapes from the darkened passage before me. The man standing watch sends me a threatening glare as I approach. I take a deep breath and shout:

"Leave her alone!"

My voice cracks on the last word. For a moment, all movement in the side street stops.

"Go home, little girl," The watchman snarls at me, and my hands start to shake, "You didn't see anything."

I nod and stagger back. I swallow dry spit and then turn, sprinting down the road as fast as I can.

"GUARDS!" I scream, aware that the big, mean rapist is probably chasing me down, "GUARDS! GUARDS!"

Dear god, is everyone in Italy deaf?

"GUA-"

WHUMP!

Something large and heavy collides with my back, throwing me to the ground. Pain blooms on my arms and legs as well as several bruises, but I don't have time to think about it because a pair of hands is fastened around my waist. When I realize I am being abducted, I start to thrash, trying to yell through the gag that has just been secured around my jaw.

I twist, trying to get a good look at my captor, but I already know what's going on, so what's the point. It's the watchman from the alley, and he's going to kill me. Just not in the street.

He shoves me into the dirty backstreet, and I fall rather messily into the dirt. My right hand lands on something soft and pleasant. As I pick myself up, the two men from before pause and eye me warily.

"What is she doing here?" Oh my god, is that her? In the dark it's hard to tell, but I think I see the girl from earlier…Or what's left of her. With growing nausea, I discover that the soft feeling came from a piece of her skirt.

"She was passing by and got too nosy," The lookout gruffly replies, "I don't think anyone heard her, but it is dusk. You know the patrols will be shifting soon, Angelo."

"Merda!" One of the criminals swears violently, eliciting a whimper from someone female. It may have been me.

"What should we do, kill them?" Another voice questions. It carries an edge of nervousness with it.

"No, I don't want a body on our hands. And besides, you don't know if the guards are coming or not."

Suddenly, the first voice becomes louder and shakier, "And if they are? They'll hang us_!" _

"No one's going to hang us, Emilio. Calm down." While the outlaws converse, the young woman and I share glances again. Tears stream down her cheeks, and one of her beautiful eyes is swelled shut.

"I-I've never broken the law before, Angelo. I have a family to take care of-"

"So you're going to abandon us?" Angelo's voice morphs from reassuring to cold and dangerous. This monster's name must be one of the universe's cruel jokes.

Emilio backs away, trembling. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it and runs from the scene.

"Emilio!" Angelo shouts after him, but the man is gone, the tapping footsteps all that remains.

"What now, Angelo?" the watchman asks, voice still low, "We can't just let them go. They can describe us to the guard!"

"_Si,_" Angelo agrees, "Probably best just to kill them. Leave the bodies here for the watch to find."

What?

"At least that way we can't be connected-"

"You-you can't do that!" My vocal chords suddenly begin to work again, "You can't just…Murder us like this!"

Angelo looks at me, and I shudder. His eyes are the only things I can make out in the darkness, grey as stone. They carry no expression.

Slowly, he draws a knife from his belt. It glints in the faint moonlight. He brings it to my eye level, watching as I shrink away from it.

"Watch me," he whispers.

Before any of us can act, Angelo turns and plunges the blade into the girl's stomach.

"STOP!" I scream as she cries out in agony, as though he had stabbed us both. Angelo twists the handle and it makes a sickening, elongated sound. Sobs are ripping themselves from my throat, sobs for this poor woman. What could she possibly have done to deserve this?

Suddenly, torchlight spills into the alley, along with armored footfalls.

"_La guardia!" _A man calls, "What's going on here?"

Angelo's breath hitches, and for the first time I see fear flicker across his eyes. With a jerk, he slides the knife from the girl's torso, and I spring forward to catch her. Angelo motions to his minion and the two stumble away, disappearing far before the guards appear by my side.

"You! Signora, what…_Dio caro…_"

Blood is quickly pooling around us as I cradle her beautiful head in my lap.

"It'll be ok," I sniff, and she looks up at me with only one glossy orb, "You're gonna be just fine!"

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

"Gliano, get a doctor, now!"

An armored man kneels beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turn to him, my face flushed and puffy, expecting to see the firm guise of a police officer. Instead, his helmet has been removed, and his gaze is brimmed with pity.

"I'm sorry-" He starts to speak, but I interrupt.

"She's not dead!" I protest, like an indignant child, "Don't say that!"

I return my attention to the girl in my arms. Blood is trickling from her mouth, and she weakly reaches for my hand. I grab it and squeeze hard.

"This shouldn't have happened to you," I tell her. "It's not right."

She shakes her head, still unable to reply. Then suddenly, she pauses and emits an odd gurgling sound. I gasp sharply, stomach sinking as her eye loses what little glimmer it had.

"Hey!" I shake her, but it's useless. "HEY!"

"Stop it," the guard's grip on me increases, "Let her rest."

I don't know whether to twist free of him, or to lean into his touch. This person, this girl I only knew for a few minutes, just died in my arms.

"You're right." I say, sliding my hand over her thick eyelashes, allowing her undamaged eye to close forever.

"_Mi despiace." _


	2. Cameras and best friends

I'm definitely still a bit shaken up from last time, that's for sure. The moment I stepped out of the wardrobe that afternoon I fell to the floor sobbing. It took me a few days to recover; which I used to catch up on some notes I'd missed that morning. Life was tough for a bit, and in the end I called my mom to help fix things, but I am now back in Italy, cruising the streets.

It's earlier than it was during my last visit; the sun is higher up, yet still threatening to set momentarily. My camera is in better spirits, beeping happily at me when I press the 'off' button. Today was good. I had to wake up at nearly six in the morning to document the afternoon rush, but that's not much earlier than usual for most people. I managed to snap some real good shots of busy Florence today.

However, even as I'm on my way back to the decrepit alley, something catches my attention. A breeze tickles the air, swirling my hair around my ears and causing me to glance up at a waving flag. A red and gold blanket with a half-eagle, half-lion creature upon it. I've seen that symbol before…

Omigod! Isn't that the Auditore crest?

With renewed curiosity, I turn away from the portal home and move closer to the Auditore banner. To my right, I notice another flag down the street, and approach it as well. It's almost as if someone's left a trail of them…

Echoed words reach me above the din, "No, I don't think so."

That is one familiaaaaar voice right there. I halt.

"What about her, though? She could be cute."

"If she hadn't so obviously colored her hair, perhaps."

Whaaaaat?

"You're too picky, Ezio."

OMIGOD EZIO? AND FEDERICO? WHERE?

I need to find these boys. Fast. Now. While my camera is still conscious.

Bubbly excitement gripping me, I follow the amused voices bouncing off the tall Florentine buildings. Before long I've reached the busy intersection where they originate, but don't quite see the infamous brothers anywhere… I frown and take a seat on a bench, hoping maybe some of the rabble will clear. Or maybe they're part of the rabble? No, their voices are too loud and clear for that…

"So her, maybe?"

"I tire of this, Federico! Why is it always my turn to choose?" Ezio sounds so indignant… Don't fangirl or the sweet old lady sitting next to you will think you've been possessed by the devil and kick you off or something!

"Because, baby brother, I've already picked my favorite."

"Really? And who is that?"

OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD THERE THEY ARE! I CAN SEE THEM! Ezio and Federico are loitering around that corner, next to the weird poster! They're staring out into the crowd or something…WOW!

Must. Reach. For. Camera.

"I don't think I can trust you to keep a secret. If _Padre _finds out, the scene may become ugly."

Ugly? You, Federico? _Never. _

Uhhhh why does the stupid thing take so long to turn ON?

"He doesn't seem so opposed to Cristina and me."

Are they like…Aware that their voices are carrying through the whole district?

"Just because you throw every notion of discretion out the window doesn't mean _I _will, _tartaruga."_

FINALLY the dumb thing is on! Ok, ok, ok, don't get too excited…Crap, how do I aim the camera without anyone noticing?

"Oh, like you're any better. Besides, at least I actually get somewhere with her. When was the last time you were with a woman, eh?"

Do I need to get closer or something? I don't think they'd notice me…They're conversation is too…Engrossing.

Ick.

"Just pick someone already, _bene?" _

Ok…If I use the running-person option (my camera has an old-fashioned dial with pictures on it. I don't really know their names, but the running-person picture is for use when you're in a car or moving very fast), I can get a quick shot…But the sun is almost gone. Will the lighting be ok?

Oh man, Ezio's expression is priceless! He's just pulled one over Feddy! PICTURE TAKE!

"_*click*" _

The old lady is looking at me funny but I GOT THE PICTURE!

Wait…

Memory…view images.

AW NUTS!

THE LIGHTING IS HORRIBLE!

NOOOOOO GODDDDDD!

My face drops and my hands catch it. Nooooo! How could this happen? All you can make out in the picture is two figures, and one of them is partially shadowed! No one would ever believe it was authentic, even if I did try to post it!

…Sniff…

Ok, only one thing to do. I have to get another one. But the lighting must be better this time. Which means two things. One, I must get closer. Two, I must turn on the flash.

Easy, right?

Ok…Ok…let's do this.

"'Scuse me," I say to the old lady as I stand and brush off my skirts. I hide the camera in my pouch and nonchalantly stroll down the street, moving directly into the Auditore brothers' crosshairs.

As Ezio continues to search for tonight's stand in, I, of course, am completely ignored.

Maybe I should be happy about that. I mean, I know the guy's destined for greatness, but to be honest he's kind of a sleaze-

-that I would kill for a picture of.

Sometimes life has you do weird things.

Alright, so now I'm directly across the way from them. Problem is, there's no bench for me to sit on and I can't exactly stand right in front of them and say 'cheese'.

Or…Can I?

Is there a way to take a picture in plain sight? I back up, bumping lightly into the doorframe of the building behind me. If I use the flash from here, I should be fine. But they'll definitely see me…

But I'll have the picture.

And besides, I'm a nobody to them. I'll be forgotten in like…Five seconds. Probably less, since Ezio's in lady-mode. Ewww… Federico though. He's a toughie…that guy has a brain in his head, despite the rumors.

Meeeh, I'm sure they won't mind a little paparazzi.

"Ah, I've found her!" Ezio exclaims as I switch the wheel from running-man to moon-and-stars (night mode- helps the camera compensate for poor lighting).

"_Va bene, _point her out."

Aaaaand, aim…

"The girl in the red dress over there, with the dark hair?" He points.

That's it, Ezio, pose, POSE!

"Someone has a fascination with the color-"

"_*click*" _

Woah, woah HEY! HEY! The camera flashes about four times, startling me. But more importantly, it's also startling everyone within ten miles of me!

Suddenly, the screen goes blank and the scope retracts.

"What?" I hiss to my trusty machine, "What the hell was that?"

"Federico, what was that?"

"It came from over there." Um…Is Federico pointing at me?

Wait, is Federico even _looking _at me? Um…Blushies…

"Hey, you! _Aspetta!" _

Ooookay, turn around, shuffle away like you didn't hear anything time! Maybe I can meld into this group of monks over here…

"Hey! I am speaking to you!"

OH SHIZ HE NOTICED!

RUN FORREST RUN!

Running in a long skirt = hard. SHUT UP BRAIN! NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR LOGIC!

"Federico, she's running!"

What's left of their exchange is lost after that. My heart is pounding in my ears and a wild grin splits my face as I barrel towards my alley. Ezio is certainly faster than me, but I don't think he's following. He wouldn't follow without his older brother's consent.

Finally the small pathway falls into view. Panting, I slip inside and throw myself against the wall, resting. I slide down it and listen carefully for the thumps of sprinting feet.

I don't hear any footsteps, but I do hear slightly heavy breathing…and two familiar voices.

"Did you catch her?"

"No," Ezio swallows, and I peek around the corner to see them standing in the street, conversing. Ezio straightens.

"What was that burst of light? Some sort of weapon?"

"Relax, Ezio. It was probably nothing. A trick of the dusk, perhaps…"

"I don't know…" Geez Ezio, since when have you backed down from one of Federico's yarns?

"Well, whatever it was," Federico continues and slaps a hand on his brother's upper arm, "it's not going to stop you from meeting your date, right? The girl with the red dress and dark hair?"

I can't really see his face, but I can hear the smile in his voice as Ezio replies, "Of course, of course."

In my lap, my camera makes a beeping sound. I smack the 'on' switch and the scope deploys once more.

Memory. View images.

YES! OH YES YES YES! THERE IT IS!

Huh…In all honestly, I thought it would look more like two people cosplaying Ezio and Federico…But the resemblance is even better than I'd hoped. The lighting came out a bit darker than I would've preferred, but it's still completely useable!

Phew…I nearly got-

Wait. Hold the phone.

Zoom in 25%...

Oh man. No way man. No way.

CURSE YOU RED-EYE!

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

A few tiring hours later, I'm back home running the picture through my red-eye removal program for the fifth time. They still won't come out. God, this isn't even like a THING for my camera! One out of every ten pictures comes out with bad red-eye, and even then my program can remove it.

But this time? Nope. Nothing. Technically the pictures can still be used, but I should get better ones. Besides, these weren't the best quality anyway.

And why the hell did it flash four times? I need to get that adjusted or I'll be hanging for witchcraft faster than I can say 'oops'.

I bet most girls don't have that problem. Heh, I'm so unique…

So fine, tomorrow morning I can get better prints. But still…Ezio almost caught me that night. What would've happened if he had? And if he'd seen my camera? What then?

There's not much in the way of explanation for devices that Italy wouldn't see for another five hundred years. And whatever I did tell him, he wouldn't believe.

Besides, what exactly would I tell him in the first place?

No, he can't catch me. Not an option. But I want those pictures so bad! UUUUuurgh!

"_Kinda feel like it don't make sense! Cuz you're bringin' me in, and then you're kickin' me out again wo-oh, wo-oh, wooo-oh, woh-ho!" _

Phone grasp.

"You got me." I mutter.

"Helen?"

"Yo, Sof."

"So what planet have you been on for the past six hours? I've been trying to call you…"

"I'm touched."

"Ha-ha. But really, where did you go?"

I pause before explaining to my best friend Sophie that my phone had only been switched to off when it hadn't. Here I was, agonizing over the fact that I couldn't get close enough to Ezio to photograph him…When the solution has been before me all along!

"Sof, do you think you could come over?" I ask slyly. Ohhh, she's gonna hate this. Hate this with a PASSION. Sophie is a very shy individual who crushes on anything with two legs.

Not that I can talk, I guess.

"Come over?" She repeats, and I can hear her frown, "I'm sorta busy. Babysitting, you know."

I sigh, "Well when do you get off?"

"Mmm, couple hours, maybe?"

"Sophie, I need you to come NOW," I say, groaning loudly, "Bring the kids if you have to. Believe me, this is not something you want to miss."

"It's just one kid, and Becki's gonna be mad if I don't watch her!"

Becki is Sophie's older sister. I can only assume the child is Alyssa, Becki's two-year-old daughter.

"You can't bring her, or anything?"

Sophie sighs into the phone, causing me to wince.

"Look, I'm real sorry to be a bitch and everything," I say quickly, "But I wouldn't do this if it weren't important. I have something I need to show you. In person."

Silence.

"Please, Sof? I'll let Alys eat my cookies!"

"Fine."

"YAY! I love you you're the best friend in the world!"

"This had better be worth it, Helen."


	3. The man has brains

So it didn't actually occur to me until _after _Sophie showed up how many problems I had.

Problem numba one: it's two-thirty pm. That means it's nine-thirty, Italian time, which means that not only will the Auditore be at home, but the lighting will be just _awful. _

Problem numero two: I don't have any Renaissance era clothes for Sophie to wear. I own two dresses, yes, but one of them is dirty. So that wouldn't work.

And lastly, Sophie was bringing her sister's kid with her.

"Oh crap…" I moan as the doorbell goes off with an annoyed attitude of its own. A creak of the door and before me stands my best friend, whom I've just uprooted from her home for no good reason.

"Hey, it's you!" I greet weakly.

"Hey, it's me." She responds, "Can I come in?"

As she steps inside, she shifts the child on her hip. Alyssa's giant baby head bobs as Sophie walks down the hall.

"So, why exactly did I need to come here?"

I might as well tell her about the wardrobe…I mean, it would suck if I had to break it to her all at once… And I'm gonna need her cooperation tomorrow.

"Well…" I sigh, "There's something I need to show you. It's downstairs."

Alyssa squeals as Sophie lowers her to the floor. "How long will it take?"

"Just a few moments, but you might want to brace yourself." I advise as we clamber down the stairs. Upstairs, the baby plays happily with my shoes.

The dim air of the basement makes it harder to make out my friend's profile. Sophie has dark brown hair that she enjoys wearing up, but her skin is pale enough for me to keep an eye on her.

"This is it," I gesture to the ancient closet. I can tell she's squinting.

"A dresser?" She asks, "That's all?"

"Well, not exactly a dresser," I continue, "Watch."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

The next morning, Sophie not only believes I am in possession of a time-transcending wardrobe, but is at my house, wearing a beautiful (in my opinion) Renaissance-y dress, and ready to step through it.

"Oh come on," I assure her while fixing some of the details on her dress. Sophie bites her lip nervously, "It's not that hard. You just need to distract them for a bit while I take some shots!"

"Yeah, like they won't notice you!" She protests, frowning at me. Ok, ok, so I'm wearing a long cotton skirt and a wrap. That's Italianish…right?

"No one notices me," I say as we get ready to launch through history, "I'm like a ninja."

"Sure." Sophie agrees sarcastically. I herd her into the closet and close the door behind us.

"Ick," She mutters, careful of her shoes in the alley-muck, "This place is a lot dirtier in the sunlight."

"Ok," I proceed, completely ignoring her, "Here's the thing: I've been watching the boys for the past week- they eat at six, then at around seven-something, they hang out on the corner of_ San Giovanni _and _Mercato Nouvo." _

"Uh-huh," Sophie responds blankly.

"While they sit by the corner, they check out girls," I narrow my eyes, hoping to impact on her the seriousness of this task, "you are tonight's girl."

"Wh-what?" Her pale eyes widen and her cheeks begin to color. "Hey, I don't even know these guys! I-I-I don't-"

"Shhh!" I silence her and grab her hand, pulling her out into the sunset-lit streets.

"No, Helen, I don't want to do this!" She argues, "I wanna go home! Helen, _let go!" _

"Listen, Sophie," I stop for a moment, gathering myself. What can I possibly say to convince her? "It's too late." I think I've got it…

"What do you mean, too late?" She frowns and ceases her struggling.

This is gonna be tricky…I hate lying!

"The wardrobe won't let you go back until you've stayed here about fifteen minutes." I explain, eyes darting to the left.

"You're lying." Sophie points out, but her voice wavers a little.

"No, I'm not!" I shake my head and try to hide my blush by turning around, "Now you can't go home, so you might as well go through with this."

I can tell she still wants to discuss it, but she can't seem to find the words. Knowing Sophie, she probably just doesn't want to say anything that could come out as infantile.

"Fine," She inhales, "But no longer than fifteen minutes."

"You've got it," I grin, and turn around again to hug her. "Thanks, Sof."

"Yeah, yeah," She pushes me off, "I still think this is a stupid idea."

"Of course you do," I roll my eyes and continue leading her to the corner, "Believe me, people are gonna _kill _for these pics."

"Sure."

A few minutes later, we've arrived. And sure enough, there they are- the Auditore brothers at large.

"Which ones are they?" Sophie asks quietly, eyes scanning the wide street.

"There," I point them out as Federico gives a laugh, "The boys with the tunics."

"They're all wearing tunics!"

"Shut up."

I grab Sophie's arms and force her to look at me (for the millionth time today), "Just distract them. Ok?"

She swallows, then nods uncertainly, "Ok."

I smile.

First, I get into position. As I stride casually past the brothers, Ezio's eyes drift me and I get goose bumps. But tonight is Federico's turn, not his…So I don't have to worry. I make it to the opposite corner and hide behind it, peeking out at Sophie as she shyly makes her approach.

Ok…I can't really hear what they're talking about, but she's got their attention. Time to close in…

"…Um, bell tower?" Her voice quivers like a mass of jello.

When Federico answers, he seems bored, "You obviously aren't Florentine if you don't even recognize the _Pallazo della Signoria."_

As I press the 'on' button, Sophie stutters, "The Pala…the what?"

"If you are not Florentine, where do you come from?" Ezio asks half-interestedly. I get the feeling he's looking over her shoulder as he speaks, which is_ rude. _

Alright, lining up the shot. This angle's pretty good, but I'll need to get the opposite one as well. I hope Sophie can hang on…

"I'm, uh, I'm…I'm from…uh…"

Ezio is beginning to notice her nervousness with a sick pleasure. He's grinning.

**Click**!

And there's the flash…Ok, they didn't notice! And I've got a nice picture of Ezio's creepy grin, red-eye excluded. Um…I'm not sure I want to put this one up. I'll get another one.

"There's no need to be shy, _signora,_" Ezio says, immense sweetness in his voice. "Are you lost?"

**Click**!

That's a pretty good one…

"No!" Sophie replies defensively, taking a step back. "No, that's not it at all."

Federico sighs, "Then what do you want with us?"

Switching angles, switching angles…Scoot scoot scoot!

"I was just…um…wondering…"

"Yes?" Ezio's grin widens, if that's even possible. What a sicko!

Ok! This is good…I can get Federico here. Oh god, his expression is so awesome, he's so completely bored…Well, ok, he's sorta mocking my best friend, but he looks fabulous as he does it.

"Did you know that when babies get tired, they rub their eyes?"

Go Sophie!

**Click**!

Alright, one more!

"Excuse me?" Federico raises his eyebrows, which would make an amazing picture if it weren't for my STUPID FLASH RECHARGER!

"Well, I, er, watch peoples kids a lot, and I noticed-"

**Click**!

"_Signora, _that's very nice and all, but we're a little preoccupied right now," Federico explains, "We would love to hear more about your nannying experiences later."

Sophie's eyes flash to mine and I nod, so she tells them, "Oh. Uh, sure! Ok! Been nice talkin' to ya!"

I smile happily at her as she approaches, but then something catches my hearing:

"Now, let's see if we can find any _real _women."

Well that's just not nice.

"Hold this, please," Sophie starts as I shove the camera in her face and march over to the boys.

"HEY!" I shout. The Auditore jump and stare at me, confused.

"What's your issue?" I snap, "I've been listening to your whole conversation, and you guys are being complete jerks!"

The boys blink.

"First, you insult her for not being Florentine," I proceed, hands folding onto my hips, "Then Ezio gets this perverted look on his face, then the second she walks away you make fun of her body! Well you know what? You guys are just totally not worth the effort!"

Just as I am about to storm away to fangirl over my amazing camera images (because…That makes sense), Federico speaks up.

"Do we…know you, _signora?" _

"Um," I answer while backing away, "No. No you don't."

"Yes we do," The elder boy proceeds, hazel eyes narrowing down at me, "You're that short girl who spies on us, watches our house, and records what times we go out."

Woah…Points for being observant.

"And I remember you were carrying that-" Federico cuts himself off. His gaze slides to my pouch, which luckily does not hold my camera- but has about a gazillion double-A batteries stuffed into it.

Oh crap, they just totally figured me out. And I think I appear slightly more harmful then the common freak, now that he put it that way.

For a moment, we all stare at each other in silence. Then, I spin on my heels and barrel at my best friend, whose dark head snaps up when I yell:

"SOPHIE, GIVE ME THAT CAMERA!"

"_What?" _She shouts back as I rip the device out of her hands and run down the street, beckoning her with a quick: "C'mon!"

"Hey!" Ooooh shiz, they're following us this time! "Come back here!"

"Where's the cabinet?" Sophie gasps as we round the corner.

That's a very good question! WHERE THE HELL ARE WE? Ok, ok, look around, look around! Um… Flags, cobblestone, Renaissance people looking at me funny, wagon down the street- THERE! OH MY GOD, IT'S NOT THAT FAR AWAY!

"This way!" I wheeze, launching back into a sprint.

"There they are!" Ezio's voice calls out behind me. They must have lost us momentarily in the thin crowd.

Just a little bit more…AAAAaaah, I can hear them, they're getting closer! Sophie and I burst into the filthy alleyway as the sun's last rays lick the street. For a few seconds I fumble with the cabinet's handles, then a loud, breathless voice interrupts me-

"This is it!" Ezio announces, "There's no where to run!" My frightened blue eyes glance upward and notice he's blocking the exit, and Federico is quickly approaching.

I can feel Sophie's hand shaking near mine, and just as Federico pulls to a halt, I yank open the cupboard door and fall inside it, taking my best friend with me.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

WHUMP!

The two of us land, coughing and panting, in my dusty basement. For a little bit it all feels like some kind of strange dream, but I look down into my palm and see the camera. Anxiously, I flick it on and check the memory.

Phew! The pictures are there, perfect lighting, and no red eye! YES! MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

"Are you ok?" I ask Sophie with a messy grin. She nods, exhausted. She looks a bit winded, but she'll be fine.

"If it's alright with you, Helen," She says, "I'd like to go home now."

"Of course," I answer, climbing to my feet.

Within the next five minutes, Sophie is back in her modern jeans and in my doorway again.

"I can't thank you enough, Sof," I whisper and hug her tightly, "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, yeah," Her hand pats my back, but I can tell she's smiling too.

I close the front door behind her and it creaks shut. My back presses against it and I begin to relax…Phew…That was a close one. What would've happened if they'd caught us before we entered the alley? We could've gotten arrested, if the Auditore pushed hard enough…And what about my camera?

You never realize the risks of time travel until after you achieve it.

Well, good thing it's all over now…I can post these safely on the Internet and go back to Renaissance Italy when I'm good and ready.

WHUMP!

I freeze. What was that? It came from the base…

Oh no.

Faster than I thought possible, I fly down the hallway and scramble down the stairs, hoping against hope that I wouldn't see what lay there.

But I saw it anyway.

"What the hell?" Ezio cries out, knocking into more of my great-great-aunt's old boxes, "Where are we?"

"Ezio, shut up," Federico snaps, brushing some of the dust off his tunic, "We'll have more of a-"

He stops speaking when he sees me. His features fold into a frown.

"Federico?" Ezio stands and turns around, "What's-" He also pauses when he notices me standing there with my mouth glued shut.

"Oh."


	4. Modern inconvenience

Alright, I've managed to get them sitting down, at least. Based solely on the furrowed looks he keeps sending me, I can assume Ezio doesn't trust me. Fair enough. Federico's just like…Man, I don't even _know_what he's thinking right now. Maybe it's best like that. But I can bet that somewhere in the back of his head he's planning some kind of escape route. Which would only end in chaos for me.

"Okay," In inhale, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, "Believe me, there is a reasonable explanation for all of this!"

"Have I accused you of anything yet?" Federico asks drily.

Sassy.

"No," I cross my arms, "But let me explain. You are right now in my house-"

"And who are you?" Ezio mutters, "You seem to know us perfectly well."

"Alright, alright, fair enough," I wave my hand impatiently, "My name is Helen. Happy?"

"Helen?" Ezio repeats, "What manner of name is 'Helen'?"

"It's Greek, tortoise," Federico snorts, "Like 'Helena', but the original version."

"_Anyway,_" I clear my throat, diverting the men's attention, "You are now in the main floor of my house, sitting on my couch, in the year twenty-eleven."

"I figured as much." Federico shrugs. Call me shocked.

"Wait, twenty-eleven?" Ezio straightens, "Twenty-eleven what?"

"As in the future, dude." I explain, "As in, what happens after you die. As in the day after tomorrow."

The Florentine's eyebrows shoot up, "So you're telling me this is the _future?__"_

I see I have a lot of work to do here…

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Explain to me one more time why we can't return immediately." Federico orders me.

"I don't really know," I admit as I filter through some of my older drawers. There's got to be something in here that'll fit him… "I think we should just try again tomorrow. Meanwhile, I am _not_having you two Renaissance-ing my house up. You live in twenty-eleven, you dress like twenty-eleven."

"That…" Federico considers, "…Doesn't even make sense."

"Yeah well, welcome to the future." He starts a little as I shove the bundle of clothes at his chest. I believe Federico is finding this quite amusing, as although I am the shortest, skinniest, puniest person I know, I control on the power in this situation. Or at least all the knowledge, which so far as I'm concerned is power.

"And what are these, my lady?"

"Um…Some spare pants and an extra-extra-large women's T-shirt." Alright, so it was a gift from someone who knows I like to sleep in clothing twenty times my size.

"And…What do you intend I do with them?"

"I intend you _wear_them."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, "So your vision of the future is that men wear women's clothing."

Oh sassy, Federico. Just plain sassy.

"First of all, _your_era covered that point just fine," I humph, "Second of all, I don't exactly have so much men's clothing lying around here."

"No?" He smiles, "You don't have a man taking care of you?"

I swear if I weren't the nicest, sweetest, cookie-baking type person that I am, I would punch his lights out.

"No." I answer curtly, "No, I do not." I then turn to find Ezio and give him his pack of ladies T-shirts.

"And why don't you?" The Auditore trails me, because frankly (and I understand this) he hates my guts.

I thump down the stairs unhappily, "You want me to just come out and say it?"

"Oh, let me guess. It's because you are romantically attracted to other girls."

Cue weird stare.

"Um…No."

Where is that awkward boy when you need him…

"I assume you go out often. Or at least that you leave the house."

"Ezio! Where are you?"

"Perhaps you are just socially-"

"Will you _shut__up?__" _

While I would love nothing more than to argue with the sassy brat all day, we suddenly stumble upon Ezio in the kitchen.

"Ezio, what-"

Omigod, is that my oven?

"Where does the heat come from?" A pink-cheeked Ezio asks me faintly as he pulls his head from the baking cavity.

"Dude! Get away from that thing!" I drop the clothes and run over, pushing the Florentine teenager away from the stove and closing the oven door quickly. I mash my thumb onto the 'cancel' button and hear a 'beep' as the heat turns off.

"What was that sound?" Federico inquires.

"Oh god…" I sigh, covering my face with my hands. What was he doing? Sticking his whole flipping head in the oven? _WHY?_

"Miss? Are you alright?"

"Upstairs!" I yelp, "Now! Both of you! Please!"

For lack of anything better to do, they listen. Soon we are back up in my bedroom, where I first fished out the clothes to hand to Federico.

"Okay," I prepare myself, "Ezio, here are some clothes for you."

He takes the T-shirt and sweatpants, fingering them with a deep frown.

"What manner of material is this, miss?"

"Cotton, Ezio." Federico answers.

"God, Federico, how do you know everything?" I have to hand it to him. First he figures out we're in the future without me telling him, now he somehow knows that most of my clothes are made of cotton.

He merely shrugs and grins at me. Yeuch, shivers.

"Anyway, you are both staying here for the night." I pause before adding, "With me."

"You're not even going to let us leave the house, are you?" Ezio wonders rhetorically.

"I might," I amend, "If you are good. And don't stick your head inside of dangerous appliances, such as the oven or washing machine."

"The future is a wild and dangerous place," Ezio shakes his head.

"Next," I clear my throat, "You are both going to take a bath."

"Beg your pardon?" Federico tilts his head.

Oh I am _so_setting myself up here… But seriously! These guys are so unsanitary it hurts! _They__don__'__t__even__wash__their__hands__when__they__use__the__bathroom__in__Italy!__I__know,__I__saw!_

"You heard me," I am going to stand my ground on this! THEY WILL BE CLEAN OR THEY WILL NOT SLEEP HERE. I didn't get to be the class-clean-freak for nothing! "You are both going to wash your grimy, stinky, fifteenth-century bodies before you touch _anything_under this roof."

"And how do you expect us to do that if we cannot leave?" Ezio glares at me.

Ohoho, touché, my little Italian friend.

"Two words, my boy," I smirk like the genius I am, "Indoor plumbing."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Ok, remember when I said I was going to stand my ground? Perhaps I spoke a mite too soon.

Perhaps it hadn't occurred to me that a teenager from the fourteen hundreds cannot even comprehend, much less utilize, the concept of a modern-day shower.

I started with a little introduction. Of course, once I had two males of about six-feet inside my bathroom, the room suddenly shrank so badly that no one could see anything I was pointing to.

"This is the valve," I enlightened them, "It makes the water turn on. You yank it, and twist it to the RED side, because you want HOT water."

"Excuse me, miss." Ezio had interrupted.

"Yes?"

"Where does the water come from?"

So then after ten minutes explaining how to work the valve, I had to explain the concept of SOAP.

"You get it wet, then you shmear the bubbles all over yourself. Then you wash it off and become clean! Any questions?"

Ezio had one, but I made him shut up before he finished it.

Then I explained shampoo. But this was a bit of a rough spot, since I tend to buy big bottles of shampoo, which means I only have one or two at a time…And they're both intended for female use.

"Why would I want my hair to smell like… 'cherry pomegranate breeze'?" Federico murmured, turning the dark red canister around in his hands.

I merely covered my face with my palm.

And also we skipped conditioner.

Then, I told them how to turn the valve off. Of course I had to also tell them that they could only use the shower one at a time, and that whoever wasn't using it would be locked in the same room with me to stop them from, say, sticking something in an electrical socket.

Naturally Federico went first.

And that's where I am now. Ezio is sitting on the floor (I will not let him even _breathe_on my bed), which I am staring at like maybe I should vacuum/dust/mop/ wipe down once he stands up. We are sitting there in sullen silence when suddenly Federico's voice is heard over the rushing water.

"Miss!" He calls. Why did I even bother telling them I had a name? Plus, they haven't uttered a word of Italian yet, but they're still using Italian honorifics, which is odd. I guess their brains are telling them to call me _signora,_but somehow time and space and whatever are messing with them so instead it comes out…_signora__…_wow.

"What is it, dude?" I ask, rapping lightly on the bathroom door.

"The water is too hot!"

Really?

"So turn the valve more to the blue side!"

Silence.

"Nothing happened!"

"Then live with it, I'm not coming in there!"

No, I'm not. No I'm not. Don't even-

"Miss!"

God. No.

"What?"

"I forgot how to turn the water off!"

"Pull the handle down all the way!"

"Which handle?"

Oh for crying out loud! It's a good thing I haven't introduced the concept of a bathroom lock yet! I kick the door down, stomp into the _far_too steamy room, and abruptly throw my hands over my eyes.

"GAH! FEDERICO!"

"What?"

"THE SHOWER CURTAIN IS THERE FOR A _REASON!__" _

It goes without saying that by the time I'd gotten the oldest Auditore wrapped in a towel and out of the shower, Ezio had found some way to injure himself.

"Explain to me again what you were trying to accomplish when you stapled your finger to my desk." I half-asked through gritted teeth when, fifteen minutes later, I used tweezers to remove a staple from Ezio's bleeding index finger.

"I-" He paused, wincing, "I was just wondering what it did."

"What part of 'stay here' did you not grasp?"

Eventually, I got the staples out. And now I have to give little Ezio (who stands more than a foot taller than me) a bath. How simply delightful.

"I don't suppose you could help him clean himself?" I plead with Federico.

He merely shrugs and smiles, pulling a damp strand of hair from his eyes, "I am sorry, miss. But I hardly understand the contraption myself."

Liar. Big, fat, sassy liar.

"Ok, Ezio," I inhale deeply. I've got him in the bathroom. He is wearing nothing but a towel, but we are not thinking about that right now. I wanted these men clean, and by god _I__will__clean__them._

Why couldn't the cabinet just work. Why.

"Step into the shower please."

He did so.

"Now pull the curtain closed."

When he finally pulls it, I sigh immensely. I stick two of my fingers into the shower and yank the handle up.

Ezio shrieks when the water hit him in the face. Haha! The dude screams like a girl!

"Hold on, kid, it'll get warmer!"

Without looking, I grab the handle again and twist it to the side I know is hot.

"Too hot, miss!"

A little to the right.

"Too cold, miss!"

Alright, a little more to the left…

"Still too hot, miss!"

"WELL DEAL WITH IT."

Before I storm out, I remember to tell him to:

"CALL ME WHEN YOU'RE DONE."

Meanwhile, when I return to my room, Federico is messing with my laptop. But instead of asking questions, he just watches. He presses buttons, he reads tabs... It's interesting…If he were Ezio he would've questioned my ears off by now.

"That's mine, you know." I say as more of a conversation starter than an annoyed remark, leaning in the doorframe.

"What do you use it for?" He looks up from the monitor for a moment. Federico makes a little room for me on the bed as I come over, pushing a curly strand of wheat hair from my face.

"Mostly work," I answer him, bringing up my extremely well organized files, "I use it to carry brushes and content back and forth. Other than that, I use it for fun, too."

"'Fun'," He chuckles, "What's so fun about a little white box?"

"Ah," I grin at him, "Woe to the day Federico Auditore discovers the internet."

There is a silence now. Well, silence until there is a loud thump, a cry from Ezio, followed by a reassuring '_I__'__m__fine!__'__._

"Miss, how old are you?" Random question, isn't it.

"Um, Seventeen."

He hesitates before asking me the question I don't want to answer.

"Why don't you have a man?"

"Federico," Why does he have to be so insensitive, "I don't…"

"I'm only curious, darling. It seems you want one."

Okay, how'd he know that. Freak.

"You know what?" I turn to him, annoyed, "You're right. I _do_want one. Thank you for informing me."

He looks at me with complete and utter innocence. Naturally. "Then go get one."

"I can't!" I groan, falling back on my mattress.

"Why not?"

"_Because!__" _Here it comes, "_Men__just__don__'__t__find__me__attractive,__alright?__" _

There. I said it. Ta. Da.

Federico doesn't say anything. I don't know why the freak had to go and ask me anyway.

And it happens to be true. Cute boys just _don__'__t_find me attractive. I am the 'friend' one. I am loyal, I am true, I am warm, I am funny- but I am _not_hot. And let's face it- that's what the guys want.

"Miss!" Ezio's voice calls distantly, "Miss, I'm done now!"

"Excuse me," I sit up, feeling sorta empty. "I have to go babysit an extremely attractive guy my age that will never acknowledge me."

Couldn't have picked a better choice of words.


	5. Consequences of international travel

Whew, is this cabinet dusty! I mean, I know I haven't used it in a while, but still- this amount of dust is unnatural. I can only hope nothing is living in here…

After a few unsuccessful hops, I manage to yank down my pair of sleeping bags from the apparently archaic upper shelf. Why do I have a pair, you ask? It's cheaper than having another bed. The first bag is for my brother, when he occasionally comes to visit (he likes sleeping bags more than the couch- I don't ask why). The other is a spare.

Because it's _always _a good idea to have a spare. Always.

Luckily for me, my great-aunt's old house happens to have a lot of spare rooms. There is a guest bedroom, but it's completely empty. It's literally just a box with some floor panels. I don't know why, but before she died she had the entire place gutted. Yet it's just down the hall from my room, so it gives the Auditore brothers a bit of privacy while at the same time assuring me that they won't do anything particularly outrageous without me hearing it.

I stuff the two rolled up bags under my arms and begin the trek down the hall to the guestroom, where my damp visitors have been instructed to wait. To my brief surprise, I open the door to find two exhausted Italians, their eyes drifting hazily to me as I step into the room.

"Hey guys," I say conversationally as I close the entrance and sit down to unroll the sleeping bags, "Why the faces?"

"I do not understand why," Ezio slurs, rubbing his face with his hands, "but I have suddenly become quite lethargic…"

I perk up from my task for a moment, chewing my lip. It's not abnormally late, just around sevenish. Based on my knowledge of Ezio (and Federico)'s extra-curricular activities, that's a long while before bedtime. Why-

The answer hits me like a sack of bricks.

"Oh, you're jet-lagged!" I exclaim, fingers clasping together.

"Pardon?" Federico sighs, leaning into the dusty wall.

"You've just travelled from Italy to North America," I explain as I proceed to unroll the makeshift beds, patting them down as I go, "the time difference is about seven hours. That means you feel like it's really late, because it's like three am in Italy right now."

Ezio shakes his head and drags himself to the soft bag of quilt nearest him, "I do not have the strength to attempt comprehension."

But his sentence structure is still _marvelous. _Do they train kids to speak that way from birth in the Renaissance or _what? _

I spread out the other roll for Federico and help the boys get tucked in. Wow, I was never this tired when I travelled abroad last year (Poland, if you were wondering). These two look like they've just been hit by trucks.

"Well," I announce as I edge slowly towards the door, hands knocking against my thighs uselessly, "Er, sweet dreams."

Nothing here but a pair of corpses.

Glad to not have to worry about the Auditore for a few more hours, I set to work on the few chores that need doing around the house. The kitchen needs tidying, not to mention I should probably make some food for tomorrow, laundry needs attending, homework needs scheduling, pictures need editing, showers need taking…yup, all sorts of goodness.

I've still got a few useable snapshots of Ezio and Federico in their natural habitat, and I eagerly upload them to my computer. After cleaning them up a bit and messing around with the lighting, I post them online on a decidedly fitting site entitled 'Everything Is True' and wait for feedback.

Since feedback, as I know only so well, does not come on demand, it's back to work. I slap on my ipod headphones and yell along with Leona Lewis as 'My Hands' comes on at full blast. Luckily, I'm sure the Renaissance kids upstairs are too passed out to hear me over the rush of the water in the dishpan.

After the dishes, I gotta sweep the floor. I toss a pot on the stove, empty a few cups of water into it and flick on the flame. While the water heats, I grab a broom and dust the floor, crooning about how I just can't seem to find any peace without breaking it. Soon I have a clean kitchen and a large bowl of pasta in the fridge.

Hours later, the chores are finished and I'm battling my sopping wet hair with my trusty sword (hairbrush) and shield (conditioner). I pull a light green sweatshirt on over my tank top and head back downstairs, considering what to do next. It's only ten o'clock…and that paper isn't really due tomorrow.

Assassin's Creed it is, then!

But I have to stop only an hour in, because frankly I feel weird playing as Ezio when the real dude is only a staircase away. So I replace Assassin's Creed II with Skyrim and put an end to Ulfric Stormcloak once and for all.

Yeah, I'm a nerd, but can _you _obliterate every little thing that annoys you by shouting at it (FUS-RO-DAH EVERYONE!)?

So, at about midnight, I say it's time to give that essay a go. I snatch my laptop from the table and parade upstairs to my room. On the way, I peek into the guest area and am pleased to note that both Auditore are still sleeping soundly. I hop into my bed, open the computer and fish around my blankets for my notebook. I'm sure I left it up here last time I tried to write this little bitch…

Oh yeah, here it is. Ok, Charlotte Bronte…pretty easy thing to write about, right?

Two hours, twenty episodes of college humor, five-hundred memes, six deviantart refreshes and a page of reddit later, I still have no essay. Wow, two am…I think I'm about ready to call it a night. I plan on returning Ezio and Federico to their rightful places tomorrow, and that means I'll have to get up early…I think.

But no sooner do my fingers connect with the laptop's sides than my door opens and a curious head pokes itself into my room.

"Miss? Are you awake?"

Should I be surprised it's Ezio? I guess not.

"Yeah, sorta. What's wrong?"

I can't really read his expression from here, but his tone is light as he says, "Nothing, nothing. But would you mind accompanying me back down the hall?"

If god had given me the ability to raise an eyebrow, I'd be abusing it so hard right now.

"Why?"

"There's something I need to discuss with you."

This…probably will not end well. But if I don't help the guy out, who knows what he'll do instead. At least if I'm with him he can't hurt himself…or my house.

I heave a sigh as I close my computer and push myself off the bed, stumbling around in the dark. "I'm coming."

"Excellent." I can hear a smile in his voice as I approach, pushing some frizzy hair from my face. As we pass the mirror in the hall, I notice that the conditioner worked and it dried nicely. Awesome, that means I'm gonna look cute tomorrow!

Hmm, maybe I should've gone to sleep. The random thoughts are already cropping up.

Ezio opens the guest room door and ushers me in. I notice a dim light coming from the closet, allowing me to briefly identify the shapes in the room. Yeah, there's a light in the closet- I keep clothes in there sometimes.

Federico is snoring softly, his still form just a lump on the ground. Ezio sits on his cot and gestures for me to do the same. I do, but warily. It's two-ten, and I'd really just like to go to sleep. Staying up this late (albeit internet surfing) can hardly be healthy.

"Ok, Ezio, what's up?"

"Miss," He starts, "I am bored."

"That's it? You made me walk all the way over here just to tell me you're bored?"

Ezio grins, "Yes. You are too tired to walk back, so now you have no choice but to entertain me."

I sigh and rub my eyes, "And how exactly should I do that?"

"Show me a few of your strange inventions," Ezio suggests readily, "I want to know more of the times that are to come."

"Why?" I complain, "It's not like you're gonna live in them!"

Ezio frowns and scoots closer, "Please, milady-"

"Don't call me that. That's…that's just weird."

"Pardon, mila- miss," he corrects himself and comes even closer, "but it is not a great ordeal, no? Simply hand me one object, and I shall be amused for hours trying to understand it."

"First of all," I swat the hand that tries to sneak itself under my chin, "I seriously doubt a remote-control can amuse you for hours. Second of all, many of our 'future devices' are fragile and _expensive to replace._" I put special emphasis on those last few words.

"If you do not allow me to study the future, I shall seek entertainment in another form."

Is that a threat or something? I'm frowning at the dimly illuminated Italian, trying to kick my brain awake. Is there anything I can give him that won't kill anyone, including my checkbook?

Why is he looking at me like that?

Oh no. I've seen that look before. That's the look he gave Cristina when he first met her, the look he gave Caterina as she sauntered away on the docks, the look he gave Rosa as she asked him how he found Venezia- _that's the horny look! _

"Listen, bro," I clear my throat and straighten myself, trying to look confident, "I know it was like perfectly ok to just make out with whoever you wanted back in the fourteen-hundreds, but then this little thing called 'mono' showed up and-"

And just like that he grabs me and literally kisses me silly. The thoughts are poofing out of my head one by one, and the only one that stays is 'Now I shall die of mono'.

But apparently I'm still talking, so even though his lips are completely covering mine, these weird squeaking noises are coming out of me. And now he's touching with the hands, why is he touching with the hands, touching my shoulders, touching my hips, touching touching- HEY BRO, DON'T TOUCH THERE!

But it feels so nice… oh yeah, that feels nice. Soothing, in fact. I could fall asleep right here, tucked into Ezio like a nice warm bed. His shoulder is so nice, oh so nice. Mmmm yeah, I'll just…I'll just you know…

ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!

My brain finally rouses itself and gives me the common sense to push away as hard as I can. Ezio is stunned for a moment, the charming casanova that he is.

"Alright, I know what you're up to," I accuse, folding my arms, "You're trying to get me to fall asleep so that you can go look around downstairs! Either that, or you're trying to force my cooperation in a very sweet and passionate way!"

Ezio has no reply but a raised eyebrow.

"Well I'm telling you right now it's not going to work," I huff indignantly, heat gathering in my cheeks to turn my face an unusual shade of red. Shame is already filling me at the thought of what just happened. "I'm gonna get up and march down that hall and-"

"And what if I discover something harmful while you slumber?" Ezio challenges, aware now that the game is up and I am simply too stupid to be flirted with, "After all, I am but an ignorant boy from five hundred years past. I would not know the difference between an item that extinguishes fires and one that causes them."

"Yeah, yeah, point taken," I grumble. Come on, think…pretend you're babysitting. What do you give the kid to stop him from sticking his finger in the electrical socket (which you just _know_ Ezio's going to do)?

Of course! DUH!

"Stay right here," I warn him gruffly as I climb to my feet. A few minutes later, I return to the room with my laptop cord and a dvd. I'm certain Ezio will find "The Road to El Dorado" fascinating. It even takes place in his century!

Ok, technically it takes place in Spain, and in fifteen-nineteen, but he was alive then! So it counts! Plus Miguel is sort of like a minstrel, right?

In order not to wake Federico, who is _still _out like a rock, I give Ezio the headphones in my sweatshirt pocket and gently stuff them in his ears. He complains at first that they are uncomfortable, but I hush him. I plug them into my laptop and start up the movie. The opening titles roll in, along with the first song on the soundtrack. I can't help a giggle-snort as Ezio whirls around in confusion, searching with wide eyes for the source of the music and voices.

"They're in here, stupid." I point to the screen helpfully as Cortez proclaims the glory of the New World.

Ezio glowers at me, but begins to chuckle when he first sees Miguel and his lute. Good…I've earned myself an hour and a half of peace.

Dammit, why didn't I pick a longer movie?


	6. Winging it in the Renaissance

"Alright," I mutter mostly to myself as I give the brothers one last look-over, "I think you're good to go."

"Many thanks, Miss," Ezio grumbles, ducking his head under the basement's light fixture, "we could not have left without your approval."

I send him and his sassy brother a glare before heading down the stairs myself. Despite Ezio's many assaults on my kitchen appliances, my house is still in OK shape and the cabinet seems to be working agreeably. This morning seems as fine a time as ever to return messy Auditore to their own era.

Now the three of us are grouped outside the ancient thing and I'm just giving them one last check. Something just doesn't sit right with me about this, but I'm not sure what it is…their wearing their Renaissance clothes (all nice and not-smelly!), their Renaissance boots…they look just like they did when they appeared yesterday. What's off?

"May we go now, Miss?" Federico asks impatiently.

"Hm? Oh yeah, yeah, sure." I reply, unsealing the cabinet door. Probably just my imagination. Yeah, that's it…

Federico's the first to go in. As he steps through the portal I find myself awed by its time transcending abilities once again. It's so scarily like staring out a window. A window to the fifteenth century! I wonder how much money I could get out of this…

Ok, don't think about the money. Terrible idea.

Federico is now standing in the alley on the other end of the world and motioning for Ezio to hurry it up. The younger Auditore, ever the playboy, immediately grasps my hand and presses his lips to it. I did _not _ask for that, but hey, free warm fuzzies.

"I thank you for your hospitality, good woman."

Tell me, is that creepy or beautiful? I can't figure it out.

Anyway, I'm about to inform him he's welcome when suddenly the air bursts with song:

"_Kinda feel like it don't make se-ense! Cuz you're bringing me in and then you're kicking me out again!" _

Oh hey, that's my phone. Excuse me for a minute gentlemen-

Wait. My phone's upstairs. What-

"Goodbye!" Ezio is quite eager to escape my house. And my ringtone suspiciously follows him.

I gasp as the realization hits me. Ezio tries to close the cabinet door on the other side, but I jump through it, unable to control my indignation.

"You bastard!" I accuse the nervous teen, "You stole my phone!"

"I did nothing!" Ezio tries to defend himself even as the Ready Set croons from his pocket.

And I have to ask, _what pocket? _

"Enough, enough," Federico intervenes with a rather unwelcome hand on my arm, "just let him keep it. It's payment enough for our abduction, is it not?"

"First of all," I snarl as I fling his hand from me, "There was no 'abduction'. You followed me. Second of all, that's my _phone_ and I'm not leaving without it!"

"Then I suppose you won't be leaving." Ezio replies stubbornly and folds his arms over his chest, "I like the contraption. It is entertaining."

"Why is everything about entertainment with you!" I am so fighting a losing battle here.

"Good-day, Miss. It was a pleasure."

And just like that they're leaving! The nerve of those idiots, after everything I did for them in the twenty-first century! Well, I'll show them. I'll just go back home and get my handy-dandy pepper spray and-

Hmm. Well this is odd. I opened the cabinet door and inside I found an empty cabinet. I stick my hand into the dark crevice and prod around. Nope, this is not a portal of any kind.

The damn thing broke again.

I groan and slam my head into the decaying wood. How am I going to convince those morons to return what's mine? Not to mention it looks like I'm going to be stuck in Renaissance Italy for another day now. I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt and I'm barely out of bed. Thank god I managed to brush my teeth before leaving.

Ok, plan A: retrieve phone. Return to cabinet. Sleep until cabinet is fixed (magically).

I think I can deal with that. And so I charge (stealthily, of course) after the Auditore with the intent of following them home.

After a few minutes, the going is solid. It's about four pm here, give or take an hour. The streets aren't exactly abandoned, but they'll be full again soon enough. So far I've been able to tail the brothers without too many stares.

Unfortunately, I'm just walking here minding my own business when some guy approaches me.

"Pardon, milady."

"What?" I turn a little, granting the admittedly attractive Florentine a few seconds of my time.

He sheepishly nestles a cloak around my shoulders and smiles, "I am sorry for your loss, but there is no need to appeal to indecency."

What the hell is he talking about? I stare up at the good-Samaritan Italian in confusion. He only wraps the cloak around my bare arms and ensures that it conceals the main of my pants before backing away.

Oh wait. I bet I look like a complete whore.

Yikes.

I hear snickering behind me and realize I have not been as ninja-like as I'd believed. Yup- both Federico and Ezio are laughing at the hideously revealed, backwards, wannabe ho. Initiate rapid blush!

All will be worth it when I steal back my phone…

More time passes and believe it or not, the Auditore have not wizened to the fact that I'm following them home. Or maybe they have and they just don't care. That could always be a possibility.

I see them walk into their family plaza. Alright…let's give them about an hour. Now, let's assume Ezio is going to his room and putting my phone in it somewhere. His room probably has a window- I mean, come on, he's Ezio, and I'm going to assume it's on the upper floor-

Oh man…how can a house even HAVE so many windows?

The Palazzo Auditore is practically _dripping _windows. It's impossible for me to know which one leads into Ezio's room…unless there's someone I can ask.

Who am I kidding, it's hopeless! I can't talk to anyone while wearing these clothes, they'll think I'm crazy! And I don't have any money on me, so getting a new dress or whatever is out of the question.

And then the tummy rumbles. It's probably like… eleven o'clock North American time, and I didn't have what you'd call a big breakfast. It's not like I can afford any food-

I'm not even wearing shoes!

On that ugly thought, I am forced to look down at what's left of my socks. I guess after a few trips to the Renaissance I'm already used to the sorry state of the streets, but my poor uncovered feet are _not. _For the past half hour I've been trotting on sharp cobblestone, filthy hay piles, discarded waste and I don't even want to think about what else.

Also I'm getting thirsty.

I groan again and begin to consider my plight in earnest. The Palazzo Auditore is not an option and I don't think Maria, bless her heart, is going to take pity on my poor, whore-like self. Not to mention those little bastards inside the mansion seem to have it out for me. No, I'm not going to get anywhere by hanging around outside _that _place.

So what now? It's getting later and the streets are beginning to fill with people who give me odd looks. Despite my pity-cloak things are still bleak. For the next hour I am forced to wander about, receiving sympathy-glances from men and snide-glares from women. I am hovering close to despair when suddenly my salvation appears down the road:

"_A face so fair I never knew, or hair so soft and sweet." _

Ok, so his singing voice needs work but his skill with a lute is fantastic!

It's a minstrel, and he's got a small crowd!

I draw near and sneak into the audience with my cloak pulled around my shoulders. At the end of his cheesy poem the people disperse, but a few florins are left in the tin at his feet. Nice…I could use some food after all this.

"Excuse me," I approach the minstrel somewhat warily. He's the sitting type, tending to his lute and checking his earnings. He's pretty young, maybe only a year older than me. Cute, too. Huh, I might enjoy this.

Minstrel-man looks up and raises his eyebrows. Oh man, I think he's pulling class on me. What a prejudiced prick!

"I was wondering if you'd like a duet?" I smile friendly-like.

Let me just explain something quick. I'm a big music person- piano, harmony, all that stuff. I managed to snag the lead in a few of my high school plays, and I'm confident about my voice. Although to be fair, I only sing because I love it. So, even if I sound terrible, why the hell shouldn't I try? Best case scenario, we make some dough. Worst case…well…actually, worst case it rather nasty…

"My apologies, Miss," He says shyly, "but I am not certain-"

"Aw, just let me try."

I brush him off and turn to face the busying street with butterflies in my tummy. Despite my supposed fame, I'm a nervous performer.

"_It's rather dull in town, I think I'll take me to Paris. Hmmm…"_

"_The Missus wants to open up a castle in Capris. Hmm…"_

"_Me doctor recommends a quiet summer by the sea."_

That's right. My Fair Lady. First musical I ever learned and it's one of my very favorites. I plunge into the first few lines of 'Wouldn't It Be Lovely' with my eyes shut, hoping the crowd reaction isn't to stone me.

However once the song is done I'm actually amazed to find the minstrel applauding me. I turn back to him and his grin is wide and happy.

"Splendid, milady! Do you know any other tunes?"

For the next three hours, Minstrel-Man and I are a rocking sensation. We capture the attention of many a passing Florentine, and we even accumulate a full tin of florins!

After going through the score of My Fair Lady, I start pulling songs from every available slot in my memory.

_"And when you smile,_" I told a girl about my age as she walked past. She paused and looked at me, a blush settled on her cheeks. "_The whole world stops and stares for a while. 'Cause girl, you're amazing…" _

The noblewoman drops a few coins in our tin and carries on with a spring in her step. _"Just the way you are." _

Finally, I can sing no more. My voice has earned me seventeen florins (SUCCESS!). Minstrel-Man implores me to stay with him, but I can't do it. Night is falling and I seriously need to get me some food or something. So, I take my wages and depart for a bakery where I am given some lusciously warm bread for about half my money.

But finding a drink is a much bigger issue. There is no clean water to be found in this city. I mean, I tried a well, but there is very, very little attraction in a liquid that smells like sewage and appears to be brown in color. Not to mention I had to bring it to the surface in a bucket that seemed to be sprouting algae older than Firenze itself. So, no. No clean water.

In the end, I'm forced to purchase wine as a source of hydration. Because there's quite a bit of that around, and I can get a cheap bottle for seven florins. Wine bottle equals water bottle, right?

Wrong. And I only discover this when stumbling through the streets hiccupping. So too much wine does things to your head, how was I supposed to know that? I could probably answer if the world would just stop _spinning _so goddamn much…

Morning. It's morning now. I can tell cause there's birds chirping and light everywhere.

And I desperately need to pee.

I roll out of the dirt I slept in and jump to my feet, eyes darting for a safe pee area. Ok, I'm in an alley. Alleys are great! I love going to the bathroom in alleys! Still, I'm not a guy and I can't exactly just undo my pants and-

Oh, what am I saying! WEEWEE WANTS OUT!

Pick up well bucket. Ohhh I can't believe I'm doing this…I'm really going to pee in a bucket someone else is going to drink out of later…

Oook that feels so much better. Ok. Done panicking. I can think now. I'll just um…I'll just leave this bucket right here…

God, how did people live before the advent of toilets?

We've got another problem. I need to wash my hands. Years of kindergarten training will not go unsatisfied- I _will _wash my hands. _I will. _

There's only one water source that will qualify as cleaning water in my book. The Arno is close enough to stick my hands in.

Fast forward the forty-five minutes it takes to find the incredibly enormous river and I'm happy as can be. I've peeled off my dead socks and my feet and dangling in the green river. Thankfully, the Arno is salty and has thoroughly scoured my hands. I feel clean! Well, sort of clean anyway.

I'm even considering taking a bath when something smacks me in the back of the head.

A small rectangle clatters onto the stones next to me and I stare at it for a second. Hey! MY PHONE! I pick it up with my sparkling hands and kiss it. Yay, now I can go home!

And that's when I notice a man I hadn't thought I'd see again. Ezio Auditore is just a few feet to my right, tapping his foot impatiently and wearing what I like to call a Great Big Frowny Face.

"Aw," I coo, apparently still drunk, "Someone didn't get their Rice Crispies this morning."

"You may have your contraption back," He seethes, "it's possessed by the devil."

"It took you that long to notice?" I am genuinely surprised, "I could've told you that."

He steps forward but refuses to sit down.

"What's it done to make you so mad?" I wonder as I put the phone back in my pocket where it belongs.

Ezio seems somewhat hesitant to divulge, but he eventually spills, "I was with my lover last night-"

"Oh, ok." I grin.

He gives me a look and continues, "She thought the rectangle was rather amusing. But should the two of us grow intertwined, the damn thing would buzz obnoxiously!"

Should I ask him what he means by 'intertwined'? Nah.

"Because of your stupid device, Cristina's father discovered us and I was removed from her arms before I could make any progress!"

Wait, wait, wait. This is _my _fault? Oh that's rich.

Wait- _progress? _What a whore!

"I thought you only need a minute?" I snort. Then I burst into laughter. A few seconds too late I remember Ezio hasn't said that famous line-that-came-out-wrong yet.

Ezio's face returns to that horizontal 'C'.

"I am finished here," Ezio throws his hand at me in a gesture of disdain and turns around.

"Hey!" I climb to my feet, "Could you help me find my cupboard? I want to go home."

The Auditore is in disbelief, "I inform you that I'm leaving and your reaction is to ask a favor of me?"

I frown, "if you don't help me, I can't leave. If I can't leave, I'm just going to keep bothering you and interrupting your love life."

Ezio considers for a moment. "I suppose it's no great burden to drop you off in a side street and let you fend for yourself."

And so Ezio leads me back into the Florentine road with a smile on my face. Luckily for me, he recognizes the way back to the cupboard and hastily ushers me into it where I am successfully transported to my basement.

The first thing I do is shower.

The second thing I do is wonder whether or not that whole episode with the minstrel playing 'Set Fire to the Rain' was a dream.

And finally I go online to check on the pictures I posted of Ezio and Federico. Unsurprisingly, there's few comments, but there is one that stands out…

Apparently, it's from a cosplayer. The message congratulates me on a cosplay well done, adding that the costumes are 'almost real'. There was also a request- he or she asked if I could provide some a few Revelations cosplays.

Hmm…sounds fun. I think I'll wait a bit on that, though. I'm not done admiring indoor plumbing.


	7. Eight Months Later- A Prologue of Sorts

_**(AN- ok, I hate ANs so this is going to be a quick one. But I would like to thank everyone, especially that last anon, for your reviews and comments! They mean a lot to me and are what spurred me to write this. After finishing AC3, I have a well of ideas for this story and I intend to update it shortly with an explanation, as well as a return to Helen's narration. **_

_**However, I am an extremely busy person ^^; please don't expect too much in the way of organized updates. With feedback and appreciation, I will work my hardest! **_

_**Thank you again, and I hope you enjoy this transition to "Breaking The Cycle II: Eight Months Later"!) **_

She is very peculiar, the woman Haytham is eyeing watchfully.

Perhaps 'girl' would be the more fitting term, he amends. Her menial height and plain dimensions make her age difficult to determine, but he cannot imagine her older than a child. Indeed, if she has any maturity at all, it is masterfully disguised beneath her actions.

An illustration? Why, yes, Haytham can provide one. For instance, she is staring at him with a deep loathing. This girl is a complete stranger, yet as he slides his piece across the board and removes one of hers, Haytham detects an insurmountable cloud of hatred.

"You," she begins darkly, her lips a thinly pressed line, "are cheating."

The pleasant hum of the tavern's music and cheer seems lost on her. A cursory glance at their booth reveals a wooden plaque with colored circles scattered across its surface.

The black circles greatly outnumber the white ones.

Haytham leans back in his seat and regards her vehemence with raised eyebrows.

"Why do you say that?" He wonders.

Her eyes narrow even further and she lowers herself, her arms flat against the table.

"Look at this," she spits the words from her mouth and gestures to the playing board. One cannot help but notice that Haytham's black pieces are all set in groups of three, whereas the girl's white pieces are few and far between. "We've only been playing four minutes!"

"And?"

"So no one wins that fast!"

Haytham rolls his eyes, "You make it too easy."

This comment teases a snarl and her fists hit the wood loudly. She shuts her eyes and forces herself to relax, tickling Haytam's curiosity.

"It's ok," she says to herself, "I can still win. I'm going to win."

Haytham chuckles meanly, "With three pieces?"

"It could happen!" She argues, face flushed.

"A fair statement."

It's really almost pitiful to watch. Still, the Templar can't really avert his eyes. She brings her head down to the pieces' level, as though personally inspecting each one. She frowns beneath the outlandish veil of hair that blankets her forehead (another peculiar trait that irks Haytham). She taps her fingers and bites her lips. Finally, she moves one of her white circles down a spot.

Haytham sighs, slides his piece into a row of three and knocks her chosen relic from the board.

Her face is a picture of offended astonishment.

"Are we finished now?"

"You bastard!"

"Ah, good."

"How dare you! You…" she groans and clenches her teeth, apparently unable to find the right word to describe Haytham's daringness, "…You, you make me so mad!"

He represses the urge to roll his eyes again and merely adjusts his hat. Life in the smoky tavern around them continues undisturbed.

"Now, if our games are concluded," He begins, his wary tone clipping her attention, "I still don't know who you are."

When she looks up at him, the glint of childish obstinacy is gone from her features.

"What do you mean? I told you my name's Helen."

"Yes," He nods, straightening, "Have you no surname?"

She shrinks a little.

"Does that matter?"

Haytham frowns in puzzlement. Some sort of absconder, perhaps? No, she looks too well groomed for that. In fact, the whole of her appearance has been unsettling since they first met: a strange hairstyle, no hat upon her head, a quality dress without a hint of wear or toil, yet she doesn't seem to be of nobility.

The runaway option presents itself again. A young girl forced to marry an unruly husband? She's pretty enough, but lacks something in the smarts department. Not to mention if she's seen with him when her family comes searching, it could potentially place Haytham in many an awkward situation he doesn't have time for.

"Yes. It does." He decides.

This sets her a mite on edge and she begins to wiggle out of her seat. Haytham's suspicion only grows.

"I won the game," He points out, "I think I deserve an answer or two."

"Er," She fingers the bag hanging from her shoulder nervously.

He stands. The loftiness of his stature and the cold stare in his gaze inform her that she is not leaving before he does.

The girl swallows and smiles suddenly, though sweat slickens her palms. It appears she's elected to change strategies.

"Okay, you're right. I'll tell you anything you want to know- outside."

"Outside?" He repeats skeptically. The harsh, winter wind of Boston is hardly quieter than the tavern. In addition, she's not wearing a coat or even a frock.

This is an escape bid.

"Yes!" She grins, wiping her hands on her skirt, "You know, just walk through the door and there ya are! How about it?"

A spy? Oh, no. Haytham is a man of many adversaries, but none of them would send a subordinate this stupid. However, his curiosity has dug in and now he does have quite a few questions. How did she find him? He's hardly been in Boston a fortnight.

A curt nod of his head, and they're moving towards the exit. She keeps throwing glances over her shoulder, as though hoping she might have lost him simply by turning around. Haytham laughs inwardly. This would be amusing if it weren't so perplexing.

Globules of snow rush into the tavern on the breeze as the door is pushed open. They splatter harmlessly on Haytham's coat, but his companion is less than protected. By the time they are standing beneath the moon, she is shivering.

"Now," He begins, taking a quick view of the surroundings- empty- before proceeding, "I expect you'll answer truthfully, and won't try to run away."

"'Course not!" She chatters over the wind. Her back is to him (which he doesn't like) and she seems to be rifling through her bag for something.

A weapon.

"Oh, please, don't-" He heaves a dramatic sigh, incredibly disappointed. Battling her in a board game had been torture enough; he didn't even want to consider physically hurting her.

There is a blinding flash. It is so sudden and bright that it burns his retinas and Haytham throws his hands up to block his face. He lets out a cry of surprise and pain as he blinks, tears peeling his eyes.

A firearm? No, there hadn't been a sound. Nor is there a telltale stench in the air. What could it have been? And, gods, why did his eyes sting to so badly!

He recovers just enough to see her round the corner, her skirts hiked up in her arms.

"Wait!"

Fortunately, her speed is just as piteous as the rest of her being. If not for Boston's ridiculous housing placement, he would have caught her immediately. But this town is stuffed with corners and crevices, and the snow and ice make it difficult to see too far. He squints into the distance and discovers a small body swimming through the wind and around another bend.

He charges forward, nearly throwing a bystander to the ground as he pursues his quarry. Haytham notes she is about to turn again, but he's close enough this time to grab her arm-

His ankle snags on a bush covered by the snow. Instead of her wrist, his hand is met with something else- the strap of her bag.

She yelps as her shoulder jerks back, and then she begins to kick.

"Stop running!" He commands, almost completely secure in his hold on her.

"Let me go!" She gasps, thrashing wildly. Haytham cocks an eyebrow, despite the circumstances. Is she really that exhausted? After having run so slowly? Could this be an act, or a trap?

The girl takes advantage of his bewilderment and worms her bag off, leaving it behind and tearing down the alley. Haytham sees her round another corner and takes off after her.

But this time she is nowhere to be found. Haytham whirls about as the Bostonian yard comes into detail: a cluster of houses, all dusted by snow, a covered well, a line of clothes ill prepared for the weather-

All is motionless except for a cellar door, flapping despondently in the wind…


	8. My Kingdom For A License

Instinctively, my hands fly to the wardrobe's doors and slam them shut, throwing a bolt over them for good measure. My skin tingles as the remnants of the storm dampen my clothes and feet.

It takes me a moment to remember where I am.

I collapse against the wardrobe, dragging one harsh gasp after another through my lungs. Running has never been a talent of mine. I think the fastest I've ever clocked was six miles-an-hour, and I could only keep that up for fifteen seconds. Man, I really wish I hadn't bolted like that…my chest is sore, my calves are on fire, and way too much snow spilled into my boots-

Oh wait.

"Shit!" I swear out loud, eyes widening, "He's got my bag!"

That's right. He tried to grab me and I- well, I must've- oh this is not good! This is very not good!

Haytham Kenway has my stuff!

Alright, I suppose I should backtrack a bit, huh…

Hey, everyone. It's me, Helen. Been a while, hasn't it? Eight months, to be exact. Well, more like approximate, I've never been good with numbers.

Anyway, I've been busy this half-a-year past. Lots of stuff has changed since the Auditore decided to crash at my house (yeah, still living in my great-aunt's spooky place, but at least it's more homely and clean now). I like to think I've matured, though I'm sure many will tell you that's not the case.

I've created a website for hosting the pictures I take using the wardrobe. It's popular- not unusually so, but I do get requests often. These are generally from fans of certain time periods, up-and-coming tailors, photographers, all sorts of art-trendy people.

Wanna know the reason I was sharing such a heart-warming, fun-time, friendly session of 'Nine Man's Morris' with Mister Kenway? Someone liked his hat.

True story. He happened to be in a few of the pictures I took in Boston, and a cosplayer asked about his hat and coat. She requested I take a few detailed shots of them, and, well, I have a hard time saying no…

And, come on, that coat is totally awesome.

My original plan was to steal the things, but I got caught. In a desperate, last ditch effort to save myself, I suggested we solve our problems over a nice game of checkers. He agreed, but he probably wouldn't have if he'd known how competitive I get about winning…

Anyway, that's enough about that. I'm climbing to my feet and brushing off my eighteenth-century attire, racking my brains for a plan. What was even in that bag? Not my camera, thank god, I've got that (the weather ruined most of the pictures, though, at least the few I took).

Uh, let's think… I probably had some spare batteries in there, along with some sketch paper, mechanical pencils, maybe a stick of charcoal, a candy bar-

Ok, most of those things are going to be suspicious to him. Blood flushes from my face and I can feel my mouth running dry. How am I ever going to get these things back? I can't exactly hope he'll just decide to leave them around for me to pick up!

Or…will he? Oh man, what if he tries to kill me? What if he's going to use the bag as bait? That's totally something he'd do!

Sorry- from what I've learned about Haytham Kenway's character (from stalking him and attempting to steal his clothing) is that while he's very gentle and mild-mannered most of the time, something sinister and bat-shit crazy lurks beneath his skin…and that's not the sort of character trait I'd like to see portrayed in person.

I'm pacing now. I've completely backed myself into a corner, just like I always do. I've pissed him off in practically every way possible! There's no chance he'll just give me back my bag and let me go! Not to mention I still don't have any good quality pictures of him or his outfit…

Maybe…I should just leave the bag. I mean, there wasn't anything too valuable in it-

Except my driver's license.

Oh. Oh, ok then.

"Why am I so stupid!" I demand of my basement wall. The wall has no response, so I just knock my skull against it.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" I cry, pronouncing each word with a swift blow to the forehead.

Boy, it's a good thing I live alone.

How did I let this happen? I guess I'd been in such a rush to get the pictures over with, I came straight from school…

Alright, alright. Deep breath. In and out. Ok, good. We can handle this. Right, Helen? Right we can handle this? Yeah, 'course we can. Sure. We'll go back in an hour and look around the tavern and its surrounding suburbs. And we'll take a coat this time. Who knows? Maybe we'll just…find the bag lying in the snow! Maybe he dropped it. Maybe he left it with the barkeep. Maybe my license fell out through a hole in the fabric, and it's actually waiting for me right outside the cellar.

Maybe horses will fly out my nostrils.

-B-B-B-B-

Why can't this city ever be warm?

It's dark out now, so I don't think my winter coat will attract too much attention. Sure, it's poofy, purple, and makes me look like an economy-sized grape, but it serves its purpose. Besides, I don't hope to be here long anyway.

Oh, but the wind! Ever been hit in the face with a waterballoon, and the first thing that hurts is the sharp, wet chill of it all?

So Boston is like that but constantly. And it sucks a whole lot.

"Here, little driver's license," I coo, teeth chattering some kind of frigid melody, "Come here, baby! Mommy needs you to help get her degree! Also groceries!"

I really am such a stupid idiot. Who takes their driver's license on a trip to the eighteenth century? I shiver and rub my hands together as the wind snakes around my legs.

"Here, sweetie," I keep calling, as though my license is some sort of deranged puppy, "God, it's too cold."

This is hopeless. I can barely even see two feet in front of me. I feel like a half-frozen penguin, waddling around Boston in desperate search of something that shouldn't even exist. At this rate I'm not sure I'll even make it home! I don't remember where the cellar door is.

Ok, ok, let's think about the bag. What does it look like? Well, it's a bluish color. Aqua, I think, but not bright. In fact, it's pretty old and worn, with large clumps of dirt caked around its gusset. It says 'faith' in golden letters on the bottom, but I don't think anyone's likely to notice. It's pretty unremarkable in every way.

In other words, it's a needle in a haystack.

I sigh, my breath forming its own miniature tornado on the wind. I need to get out of this weather; I won't even be able to find my feet in this condition.

"Are you looking for this?"

Huh? What? Who said that?

I waddle until I can turn around, and when I do I barely perceive a cloaked man leaning against a door with a lantern hanging above it.

He's dangling something from his arm, and it's flapping around in the storm…it almost looks like…

Hey! My bag!

I stagger over as quickly as my bloated body allows. Goodness, I hope this man isn't the picky type, I'm going to look like an absolute lunatic to him-

"Yeah!" I tell him excitedly, wiping some snow from my eyes, "Where'd you find it?"

There's this silence, and I'm thinking I've made a mistake. Now that I'm close enough I can get a better look at my savior: he's taller than me (who isn't), wearing a buttoned, blue coat, scarf, tricorn, the usual eighteenth century getup…Oh, I see. He's probably staring at me cuz of cumbrous cardigan. Yeah, that makes sense.

"Oh, sorry 'bout the coat," I laugh in a self-deprecating way and shift my arms at my sides, "it's a bit big for me."

"No need to apologize," he says, "Now, I take it you'll want this back."

I hum in agreement and stretch out my hand to grab the old thing.

Immediately, he snatches the bag away and disappears inside the house. And then he slams the door in my face!

Shocked. I am shocked. My mouth is hanging open and there are cold, devil snowflakes on my tongue (and, for the record, they DON'T taste like sugar). That…that asshole!

"Hey!" I exclaim, pounding on the door with my numb fists, "Give it back! What're you doing, you asshole?"

"You have now made it copiously clear that you are indeed the buffoon I encountered earlier. You're only making it so obvious that I don't want to believe it." Comes the muffled response.

Well, color me amazed. He called me a buffoon-

It's Haytham, isn't it.

Urgh, why am I so stupid…Baka Helen! Well, at least now my rage is helping thaw my frozen carcass.

"Look," I attempt to explain rationally, but it's hard to reason with a door, "I just want the bag back, ok? I'll leave you alone after that!"

Not particularly honest of me, but whatever. He deserves it.

"Oh, my concern lies not with you," Haytham answers, and I have to press my ear against the door to hear him over the wind, "I'm quite convinced you couldn't harm me if it were your very last intention to do so."

Pretty sure he just insulted me.

"No, my worries spring from the reconnaissance you've gathered on my activities. Now, that, in the hands of my enemies, is dangerous."

Mm, this boy sure likes big fancy words. I can see why he put himself on the other side of the wood- you know, the one not in a blizzard.

Keep it together, girl.

"I'm working alone, I promise."

You moron! If anything, that makes him sure you're NOT working alone! And you're not even 'working' period, that's just plain misleading. You do this recreationally.

Actually, maybe he's right to be afraid…

Haytham retorts, "You don't honestly expect me to believe that. And even if you did, I still wouldn't let you inside."

"However…"

Yes, oh Mighty One In Possession Of Heating?

"I might consider opening the door if you answer a few simple questions."

"Like what?" I wonder earnestly. It's really quite chilly out here, have I mentioned that?

"The contents of your purse, for one, are very intriguing. This card- is it identification? I see a name, an unfortunate painting- oh, is this you?"

If I weren't so busy being slowly tortured to death by the cold, I'd be furious.

"Just let me in," I whine, "Please, don't keep me out here. I'll freeze to death!"

"I see," He mulls, his tone reflecting a zero-percent pity count, "how terrible for you."

"Please?"

"Not until you tell me whose orders you follow."

"But I don't follow anyone's orders! I'm a free agent!"

"Yes, and I'm King George."

"This doesn't seem fair," I scowl, shuddering, "here you're forcing me to answer your dumb questions, and when I do answer them you don't believe me!"

"Best get comfortable out there. It's going to be a long night."

In a moment of desperation, I begin to jump around and stamp my feet. Actually, this might've been just so I could regain sensation in my limbs.

"I'll explain the card to you!"

"Hmm," He hums, lighting a flame of hope in my chest. Ooh, will he let me in? That'd be so great if he'd let me in! Let me start thinking about all of the things I'll do when I'm not freezing to death-

"No, I'm afraid that's not good enough anymore. You'll need to tell me why you were tailing me. And why you tried to pinch my hat."

How could I even begin to explain those things to him? Oh, well, some person I don't know asked me to take pictures of your clothing. Hope you don't mind if I borrow them.

"Too much to ask, you think?"

YES, I groan inwardly. I lean my head against the door and shiver to myself.

"A shame."

I think…I think I hear footsteps. He's walking away? Does he still have my bag? What's going on?

"Hey, wait! Wait, don't go!"

I'm banging on the door again, but he's no longer listening. Whose house is this, anyway? Thump, thump, thump, well now I have a raw feeling in my hands, at least. I give the door a kick, too, just for good measure.

Should I wait him out? Nah, that'd just be stupid. I don't even know if he's there anymore.

"Aw, come on, Haytham," I moan, rubbing my nose as it begins to frost over, "not even you're this cruel."

He's really going to leave me out here in the cold. He'd rather do that than just let me have my driver's license back. To be fair, even if he gave it to me, I'd just run for it, so…guess I have to agree with his way of thinking. I'm an obnoxious brat, anyway.

I slide down the door and huddle into a ball, attempting to conserve my body heat. There's a tiny crack at the bottom of the post, I can see light seeping from it. Maybe I can stick a finger or two in there and feel a draft? A warm draft, maybe?

"Stupid Templar bitch," I mutter, "what kind of 'New World Order' are you tryin' to form, where it's ok to leave young girls outside in the snow…"

Suddenly, completely without warning- the door creaks open and I faceplant onto the floor.

Ooh, but the floor is warm! This is totally fine with me! Now, if only there weren't a boot right next to my head it'd be perfect!

Two-could-have-been-way-more-gentle hands clasp my arms and all but toss me into the room. Oh, there's a fire! Fire! Hello, new best friend!

I unzip my cardigan and shed it, the useless purple thing. I try to lunge for the fire as soon as I'm mobile, but the same cruel appendages stop me and force me to look up.

There, staring deeply and gravely into my eyes, is one, murderous-looking Haytham Kenway.

"How do you know about that?" He demands, quietly.


	9. Out Of The Frying Pan, Into The Freezer

My tongue is a useless lump of flesh in the center of my mouth. I can actually feel it getting heavier by the second, since it's drying up kinda fast.

"I'll repeat but one more time," Haytham says, taking a step closer and raising his knife-decked wrist. All the blood in my face makes a mad dash for my stomach.

"How do you know of the Templar Order?"

There are precisely three lonely thoughts drifting aimlessly through my head right now- all else has been obliterated. These thoughts are:

One- he is not fooling around.

Two- I have no reasonable explanation for why I know that.

Three- he will probably kill me if I don't say something within the next ten seconds.

And then of course there's the last one, which is just this really, really strong urge to cry. But I'm trying my best not to acknowledge that one.

Mister Kenway is watching my face with every bit of scrutiny. God, what do I look like to him? I feel absolutely terrified. The fire is a distant memory belonging to somebody else.

Seconds are ticking by, and I can't open my mouth. His hand is getting higher, drawing nearer to my throat, and I know that I'm dead if it makes it there. What am I supposed to do? Oh, if only I had a reset button! I hadn't even meant what I'd said! It was just something to help vent my anger!

"I will not hesitate to kill you."

I'm in such a state of panic right now that I barely even register him talking. Come on, Helen, think! There's got to be a way out of this. Can I make it to the door? No! Don't even look! He'll kill you for sure if you do that. In fact, I can't really see much of anything at this point but his looming figure casting its shadow over me. Sorry, twenty-first century. Guess I won't be coming home tonight after all.

And then a voice erupts into the room, sharp and frightened:

"My brother!"

For a moment, both Haytham and myself are duly startled. Then I realize that the outburst came from me.

Haytham blinks away his surprise and a shred of intimidation falls from his features.

"Y-yeah, my brother," I wonder what I'm talking about. Who is this person who's taken possession of my voice?

"Your brother?" Haytham repeats, frowning as though he's been given the last piece to a nonsensical puzzle.

I nod earnestly.

"He-he's a big contributor to your cause- money, that is. He's real afraid of getting caught so he stays anonymous. Sends money to England every month, and sponsors events here!"

A brief silence floats by as I catch my breath and Haytham dwells on this information.

I babble, "He's not in Boston; he lives in New York. I visit him a lot, so sometimes I go through his stuff and see things I'm not supposed to."

Again, no response. I swallow hard, mentally pleading that the Grand-Master-to-be believes me.

"Look," I continue, tears moistening my lids as color returns to my cheeks, "I don't know what a 'Templar' actually is; it's just a word I found in one of my brother's accounting books. I swear I won't tell anyone else about it."

"How come I've never heard of this donor before?" He asks me, eyes narrowed, "What is his name?"

"As I said," my lungs tighten as I repeat a blatant lie, "he doesn't want to be found. But his name is Rafael Broker, if you want to look him up."

That's a reasonably old-timey name, right?

"And another thing," Haytham adds, "Why are you following me? If what you say is true, then you and I have no affiliation whatsoever."

Come on, girl, you're almost there. He's already looking at me differently- less hostile and more curious. I just need to feed him something easy to swallow and particularly human…

Let's hope those years in my high school drama club are worth something…!

"Well," I cough into my fist to clear my throat and will my face to heat vibrantly, "That's sort of hard to explain."

"I'm listening."

"It has much to do with a friend of mine," I begin, pacing back, "You remember I'm from New York, right?"

"And so?"

"So, I don't live in Boston. I board here with a young woman and her family. We've grown close."

I can sense him growing impatient, but I'm making this up as I go. Oh, please, please, please, please believe this!

"And," I allow my gaze to drift off and a finger comes up to twirl my hair, "Well, she…she's taken a liking to your hat and coat."

Haytham raises his eyebrows.

"Pardon?" He says.

"It's true," I tell him, "She loves them. Says they're a fine work of art she wants to duplicate for herself. The coat especially."

"I see," Haytham murmurs, brushing his lips with his thumb. His tone clearly implies that he does not.

"What could I do? I owe her so much for her hospitality here in Boston. So, I set out to try and snatch them from you."

I quickly add, "It wasn't going to be permanent!"

He considers for a few moments, "That certainly explains your actions previously; the distraction; the unwillingness to talk; the urge to flee. However…"

Oh crap! What part doesn't match up?

Haytham shifts to cross his arms, dismissing his hidden blade.

"I don't see why you and your friend couldn't approach me," He sighs, shaking his head, "It's an odd request, to be sure, but a much safer method than stalking an armed man at every instance."

Sure, course, cuz you're a very approachable guy. Oh yeah. When people think of a relaxed, outgoing, fun-loving charmer, they think of Haytham Kenway.

"I suppose we could've," I reply nervously, "although, we've only been speaking a few minutes and you threatened to kill me, remember?"

"I apologize for that." He turns and walks towards an end table, where my bag is sitting quite unattended. Hey, my bag! Haytham stops next to it and drops my driver's license on top.

Unbelievable! Is it really…does he actually believe me?

"Y-you don't think I'm lying, do you?" I can't help breathing the question incredulously.

Haytham smiles at me. My veins run cold.

"I'm almost certain you are," he replies cheerfully, "but there's a chance you aren't. After all, truth is stranger than fiction."

On his way past me, he stops to give me an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

"And if you truly are lying, you should've come up with a better story than that."

He continues across the room to a table and unravels a few of the scrolls that had been lying upon it. I don't trust this; he's got something up his sleeve. Is he really taking his eyes off me? Does he believe me or not? His answer was cryptic and disturbing.

"I'm still a bit confused about the trinkets you came with, but I haven't dwelt in the colonies very long." He calls from his place over at the table, "It's possible there are things produced here that we do not have in Great Britain."

I am about to agree whole-heartedly with him when a third party bangs on the door.

"Come in, Charles." Mister Kenway bids entrance.

A snowdrift blows in and the fire sputters as he enters: a young man of average height, dark-haired and fair-eyed. He is quick to shut the door behind him with a gloved hand and bow towards the Grand Templar.

"Master Kenway," He greets, striding towards the table, "I bring urgent news from Sir Johnson."

I watch dumbly as a letter, slightly dampened, is placed on the wood surface.

Haytham lifts it closer to his eyes and frowns at it. The crackling of the fire fills the silence as both men focus intently. I inch closer to the table where my license waits unguarded.

"Who is that?" Charles asks, not bothering to turn in my direction at all. Huh, guess he did notice me.

"Oh, just a visitor," Haytham dismisses the topic with a wave of his wrist, squinting at the parchment, "She'll likely stay a while. Pay her no heed."

Uh, I'm staying a while? I didn't know that. Actually, at this point I'm considering snatching my license and running for it. That's still an option, right? I mean, I could escape. Couldn't I?

Oh man. That's why Haytham's so relaxed. He must have some sort of trap planned. Will I be shot the moment I leave the building? How can he be so sure I won't try to flee? Or is he positive that I will? What is he thinking?

Now's my chance. Haytham and Charles are talking amongst themselves and exchanging bits of paper. Their attentions are away from me. If I'm going to run for it, I have to go now!

I really hope I don't die.

The plastic is in my hand before I even register that I'm moving. Quick, hand on the door, pull it open, cold air like a slap to the face, one foot outside, RUN-!

And I'm on the ground immediately.

"Goddammit!" I cry in a mixture of pain, aggravation, and astonishment.

My ankle is throbbing something awful- did it snap? Oh lord, I've never snapped a bone before. I mean, once when I was a baby but-

Ok, what the hell happened to me?

I twist around, attempt to rise, but something is tied very tightly around my left ankle and I can't stand. I sit up and my hands fly to my calf, tossing off chunks of snow to reveal-

A snare.

Damn. Wait, how did Charles get in without setting it off? In that case, when exactly did Haytham place this? He was with me the whole time! Oh, nevermind, it's probably just one of my special talents…getting caught by invisible snares…yup.

"This is disappointing."

Shit, shit, shit, shit! I need to find a way out of this before he catches up to me! Fortunately, Haytham is taking a leisurely approach to my apprehension, only barely watching from the doorway.

"I wanted to believe you, you know," He announces wistfully, taking his steps one at a time, "This isn't how I intended things to end."

Come on! I tug and tear at the length of rope around my ankle, but it's just too tight. No wonder he's moving so slowly- he must be one-hundred-percent positive I can't free myself. Which, at the moment I…can't.

Guess I'll be staying a while after all.

He sighs, his breath flying on the wind in a puff of air. I'm preoccupied with my struggle against the trap, so I don't really notice him crouching in the snow beside me.

"Why are you so eager to run away?" He seems genuinely concerned at this point. Like he's talking to a four-year-old or something, "I've done nothing to hurt you."

Um! You threatened to kill me not ten minutes ago and right now you've got my leg in a snare! THAT HURTS!

Haytham grimaces. I think my useless fighting pains him.

"It's not my policy to kill young women." He tells me, "What gain you through such stubbornness of spirit?"

I'll show you stubbornness of spirit you stupid, lying, dumbfaced-

Ah ha!

My efforts have weakened the rope enough to slip my foot out of my boot, effectively disabling the snare (of course now I have to run one-footed)!

Again, I'm up before I know what's happening. Haytham shouts something that sounds like a command, but I don't take orders from you, Sir Spaghetti Cape!

The shock of my frozen toes alone keeps me sprinting as I throw myself down the road, eyes peeled for a corner. There's a loud crack behind me, and then a small object whizzes past my ear. At first I think it's a bug.

Oh, it's probably just Charles. You know. Shooting at me.

Quick, a corner! Good, now another corner!

A large lump of snow suddenly latches on to my shoulder. I know it's snowing, but nothing falls that heavy! Oh wait-

I spare a glance upward and happen to catch a shadow as it flits between rooftops, loosening some precipitation in the act.

Of course! Corners won't do me any good if he's following from the roof! But then how will I escape? Where am I even running to? I need to find the cellar doors, but I haven't got a clue where I am!

Think, think, think, think-

Where are those drums coming from? Really interrupting my process over here, dumb-drums-

Wait! Drums! A military patrol!

Wheezing, I dash down the street towards the beating of sticks on skins. Before long I can make out a cluster of coats, red and shiny as fresh plastic.

"Help!" I bellow hoarsely, slowing. Goodness, my body can't bear this much running in one day…I should've taken PE more seriously…

Um, shouldn't they be turning around to help me or something? Oh they probably can't hear me! Those drums, you know?

Shit, shit, Haytham and Charles are right behind me, no doubt. Probably lining up another shot.

Without even thinking, I gather a second wind and run up to the patrol, placing myself before them.

"Guys!" I gasp, my face burning from the severe cold. God, I don't even have a coat! "I really need some help!"

The helmeted officer of the crown stares at me, nonplussed.

"Eh?" He says.

"Two men," I explain swiftly. A few more eyes are narrowing down on me now, I think I've got an audience, "they're after me. The-they want to kill me!"

"Settle, woman," The officer answers. His tone is somewhat skeptical, but his hand hovers to his sword pommel. Oh, come on, this is your job, you nitwits! Protect some civilians, would you?

"Can you describe these assailants?"

At this point, three of the men are turning to face their surroundings, muskets unshouldered. Hm, maybe I've actually helped contribute to their boring day of march, march, marching. One of the soldiers is sorta dazed, not doing much of anything but looking in my direction.

"Y-yeah, sure," I nod, swallowing, "One's got a hat and a blue cape, and the other's wearing a blue coat-"

Well, doesn't that just describe all of New England. Yes, officer. New England is trying to kill me.

But Charles is bolting up the street right now, so I don't even have to bother describing him.

"There!" I point him out excitedly, and the officer's sword is unsheathed in an instant. The men all make to intercept Lee, except one, who stands at my side.

"Here."

I blink as a sudden weight is deposited on my head and around my shoulders. There's warmth to it, even though whatever it is smells like a mixture of dirt, sweat, and mold.

Oh, a blanket. How sweet.

I look up to find a bashful boy in a redcoat's uniform, shifting his musket in his arms.

"It must be quite a situation," he remarks, "you've come out with barely a stitch against the cold."

Are you referring to my lack-of-boot? Because yes. I am upset about that.

"Wasn't a choice," I grit. He remains silent.

This is strange…I thought they'd be arresting, or at least stopping Charles Lee from coming any closer. Instead, they seem to be…chatting with him? What the- Lee just laughed! What the hell is going on over there? And the soldiers look relieved…

Le gasp!

Of course! Charles Lee is a soldier, too! He's stationed at one of the forts here, isn't he? Goddammit, he probably knows all of these people!

Ok, time to run away, time to run away, time to run away.

"Excuse me," I say to the young man, eyes wide with panic, "could you point me in the direction of the closet tavern?"

He seems reluctant, but raises a finger to the east.

"Thank you!" I smile in relief and hop onto my tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Hope he doesn't mind if I take the blanket with me…

Not enough time to ask. I have GOT to run if I'm going to escape Charles Lee.

I'll be able to find the cellar doors if I stay on this path. The doors are very close to the tavern, so all I have to do is make it there. Take corners as much as you can, stay away from the edges of rooftops. The very last thing my lungs need is for some hundred-ninety-pound man to land on them after heaving this long.

Oh lord, and I thought I was cold before. Actually, I'm so cold I'm heating up. My cheeks are on fire, and my thighs are practically internal furnaces. My eyes are watered and red, mercilessly impaled by the rushing winds. My fingers and toes?

Well, we will just not be talking about my fingers and toes.

Finally! There's the tavern! Huh, sure is weird Charles and Haytham haven't caught up to me yet, but I ain't questioning a good thing! Ok, take a left here- DON'T trip over that! Duck under the clothes line- what idiot hangs their clothes to dry in a snowstorm?

Ok, this is it- this is the yard! I know the cellar doors are here, but…but I don't see them!

Worry paces in my chest like a stallion at the gates. This isn't right! I know it's here. I'm not lost, am I? No, no way! I can't afford to be lost!

It's in this corner here it's just-

It's buried in snow!

Well, my hands are numb anyway, what difference is a bit of digging going to do. I sink my arms into the clumpy white stuff and sift, yanking out gob after gob and tossing them behind me. At last- I can see the handles! I'm free!

And that is precisely the moment that I become aware of the pistol pressed against the back of my head.

"Don't open that door."

You know, I am seriously too young for these things to be happening to me. Way too young.

"Stand up and turn around. Slowly."

I've got no choice but to listen to him. I close my fist around a large morsel of snow…

Ok, Charles. We'll play this your way.

I rise to my feet, swaying a little as the adrenaline of my mad dash ebbs. I'm actually feeling quite faint right now, but I'm so close to home…one more battle.

"Now turn around."

Come on, girl. No other choice, remember? But I don't want to let the doors out of my sight. What if they vanish again?

I hobble a bit with my uneven feet, resolving to face him without a hint of trepidation. My body stands rigid and I lock my eyes with his, silently furious that he won't let me get away. Fury…yeah, that's good. Fury is good. It's much better than crying, which is what I really want to do. Begging is a persuasive desire as well.

A stray breeze combs through loose strands of my hair, curling them around my nose and lips like adoring friends. Gtfo, wind. You are not my friend.

Something in Charles' countenance seems to soften, even if only a little. His voice lower itself and he almost reaches out to grasp at my floating wisps of hair.

"Your obstinacy is most unfortunate," He murmurs, "I may yet have considered you a striking woman."

Striking, you say? Well, Charlie, it's so funny you said that cuz-

SNOWBALL TO THE EYE!

He yelps a most unmanly yelp and I hit the ground. Perfectly timed, as he squeezes the trigger instantaneously. The lead ball misses me by a mile, but it punctures the cellar doors behind me.

A sudden thought- does getting shot affect the cabinet? Let's really, really hope not, because if I don't escape this time, I will probably die.

I take advantage of my position to sweep my leg behind Charles' ankles, tripping him. This is just enough time for me to whirl about and yank open the cellar doors, leaping through them just as Lee recovers.

I fall into my basement, but I don't miss a beat. I slam the doors and cross the brace, bothering even to find a second one.

I can hear Lee's swears of rage all the way from the twenty-first century…


	10. Why Sixth Grade Is Important

The first thing I make sure to do is remove the slip of paper from the cabinet's hinges. That's how it works, you know. Insert the location, date, and/or persons of interest on a slip of paper, and the cabinet will do its best to take you there. Remove the slip- that changes.

So now even if Lee has the cellar doors I escaped through demolished, piece by piece, he'll find nothing.

Now, I'm going to take a nice, long, hot bath. With bubbles. And water warmer than negative-five-degrees-Celsius. God, my ankle is throbbing something fierce…I think I've got an ace bandage around here somewhere that should help it heal up. I hope.

After I'm all clean, toasty, and relatively relaxed-feeling, I flip open my laptop and make a short announcement on my picture-hosting site. It's probably best I let everyone know that there won't be any forthcoming pictures of Haytham Kenway anytime soon…at least, not from seventeen-fifty-four there won't be.

Anyway, I submit my proclamation and then move along to my inbox. As usual, there are about ten requests for Connor Kenway. Problem is, no one can decide what they want him to be wearing. I've broken it up so far to two or three for little Connor, another three for Captain Connor, and four for Original Connor.

I frown and bring my thumb to my lips to chew on it. From what I know of Connor, his character is pretty mellow. If I'm careful about it, I don't think he'll have much objection to me snatching a couple pics of him. The question really is what time to catch him…and how.

Well, now isn't really the time to dwell on it, I suppose. I don't plan on heading out, not with my ankle in this condition and the memories of my last incursion still raw in my mind. No, I think this is a pretty nice opportunity to take a break. And it'll give people a couple of days to get in some more detailed orders.

So, for the next three days I live as though I don't have a magical, time-transcending lump of wood in my basement. It's boring, but boring can be good. Hey, after sprinting through a freezing town with two of the world's most lethal men on your heels, boring is absolutely splendid. I go grocery shopping, I go to classes, I talk with my family, enjoy the conveniences of modern life (which, as shocking as it seems, I've come to realize many people truly don't appreciate), et cetera, et cetera. It's quite soothing.

On the fourth afternoon, I pull open my laptop to this intriguing message:

"Hello!" It begins, cordially enough, "I've always admired the natural coloring of your pictures and I admit that I always find the background more interesting than the subjects.

Seeing as you post a lot of cosplays from the video game 'Assassin's Creed' (Which I'm a fan of :D ), would you consider doing one of the Homestead? I understand if you only do clothing, but your backgrounds are so authentic I doubt that's the case.

If it's at all possible, I would really appreciate some scenic shots of the Davenport Homestead. That land is breathtakingly beautiful and its colors are rich and vibrant.

Thank you very much!"

Wise guy, eh...thinks he's got me figured out…

Still, I've never thought of that. I never thought someone would ask me to just get some pictures of good ol' nature. I mean, why not step outside and get some yourself? Truthfully I haven't noticed anything unique about the Homestead's terrain. It looks exactly like every other forest in New England.

It would certainly be a nice change of pace, though. Different from Boston's busy, smelly roads and stuffy, stinky taverns. And, best of all- no people to have to explain myself to!

Ok, well, actually, there's a slight chance Connor might be lurking around there somewhere. But it's minute. You know what? I'll just go some year before he gets there. There. Insignificant, itty-bitty problem obliterated.

Doesn't mean I won't be prepared, though. My eyes dart to my watch and inform me that sunset in New York is about two hours away. Yes, that should be enough time to get everything together…

Let no one say Helen does not learn from her mistakes. We're doing things differently now: we're travelling light; no more clunky bags. Just a small, sewn-in pocket for my camera and a stray battery or two. Also, we're going to have to dirty up my dress a bit, scruff it a little, anything to make it look less new. Though it pains me to say it, clothing in the eighteenth century simply wasn't ever that clean…

And- though this is purely precaution- we are going to write a bio for myself. No more of this I'll-make-it-up-on-the-spot crap. No. If the unthinkable should occur, and someone like Achilles Davenport and I end up on opposite ends of a hidden blade, I'll need a plan. A good, reliable, authentic one. Alright…Let's get to work.

-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-

July, seventeen-sixty-five. The forests are just as beautiful as they ever were, and I can breathe easily knowing there's no one on the property to discover me.

My ankle squeaks a bit under the ace bandage, but it's comfortable for the most part. A good thing, as I've been doing quite a bit of strolling around here. Been snapping pictures for about all of forty minutes so far, and sunset is only a short while away.

I'll admit, I wasn't crazy about this place at first. The air is thick and odorous, and I can't even tell you how many bugs I've swatted off my wrists and cheeks. When I first entered the woods, it seemed to me as though everything wriggled with some form of life.

And the longer I stayed, the more I realized what an interesting quality that was. The threatening, shaggy underbrush became canopies for microscopic cities and insect nations. Erratic, sharp bird wails became lofty notes of music. The sinister footsteps following me became a curious doe, sniffing at my hand. I'd giggled and scratched one of her ears, but she quickly bounded off when I touched her.

It helped that the weather was decent, of course. A pleasant breeze sailed through the meadows, gliding off hills and uplifting the curls in my hair. The sky was a magnificent blue, though now it's blazing with streaks of orange and yellow. If I crane my neck, I can even see the stars as they twinkle into the evening, one after the next.

I can't wait to heap through my findings when I get home… I went down to a creek earlier and got these gorgeous close-ups of the water as it gushed over the pebbles, wet and limpid. And, as the request dictated, I was sure to capture as much color as possible. Contrast was the key- still is, as I crouch to steady the camera, aiming at the sunset.

Yikes, it sort of hurts to bend. Lee and Haytham really did a number on my ankle after all. Oh, well, all I need to do is treat it kindly and it'll heal in a jiffy. These pictures are marvelous, though…a painting leapt right out of canvas. The sun is a ball red as blood, sinking below a horizon of burning gold…

I turn my back on nature's masterpiece, switching off my camera in order to preserve battery life. However, my eyes fall on something intriguing just as I make to leave.

A small clearing to my right, where a stick protrudes rigidly from the ground. It seems to have a length of rope connected to it-

Ah, a snare. I am drawn to it by a sad, whimpering noise. It appears there is a bunny caught in its grip.

My heart goes out to the thing immediately. It's large, black eyes are wide with pain and confusion, and its light hair is matted and dirtied from frenzied escape attempts. One of its ears is bent, and it paws at the snare pitifully. It almost seems to be crying, if bunnies can cry.

"Poor baby," I coo, sitting beside the trapped creature. It whines loudly as I raise a hand towards it, but calms when my fingers stroke its hyperventilating body. I can feel a heartbeat, furious and afraid…

"Don't you worry, little guy," I smile and blink away a tear. I'll get you out.

"Don't worry, buddy," I repeat, taking the rope in my hands and working to release its knots, "I know exactly how you feel."

The rabbit stills itself, gazing at me motionlessly. For a second, I feel like it can understand me. It's not right to keep an animal tied up like this- he should be free.

Finally, the snare is broken. I remove the lassos from the bunny's neck and leg. It takes off instantly, hopping through the brush and out of sight. I hadn't even noticed my palm lifting to pet it again. Huh. He sure took off fast. And here I thought we had a connection.

Is it odd that I feel betrayed by a rabbit?

Well, whatever. It's getting dark quickly, and I should be off. The last thing I need is to get lost in the woods, right?

Now, which way was it to the manor?

I turn back to the sunset, but it's abandoned me as well. Now my only sources of light are the rising moon and stars. The land still glows with the blue dusk of post-evening, but it's hardly enough to guide me. Instead it only serves to deepen the forest's shadows and create new obstacles from thin air. I nearly trip three times on my way uphill, none of which does my throbbing ankle any good. Huh, maybe I didn't think this whole 'coming at sunset to get the prettiest pictures' thing through.

Yes, this feels right. The manor should be just at the top of this…or was it that way? I think I see a shed in the distance, but- no, the manor is bigger than that. It's probably just a tree or something. Damn, it's so hard to tell what's what with this crappy lighting! And my leg is really starting to hurt now. I'm scared if I don't let up on it soon, I may end up really injuring myself.

Perhaps I should sit a moment. There's a nice, comfy log right here-

No! I don't have time to take a break. If I stopped now, it'd be pitch black out here by the time I stood again. I just don't have the time. I can't afford to get lost!

…I think I'm lost.

I can't help laughing aloud. Oh, how ironic. No one to chase me? No one to fire muskets at me? Fine, no problem! I'm perfectly capable of dying on my own!

Ok, what do they teach you at summer camp…how do you survive in the wilderness on your own…? Oh, come on, I totally learned all about this sixth grade.

Why do they teach survival tactics in sixth grade, anyway? I mean, what's up with that? Shouldn't they be taught in high school or something, when you're more likely to pay attention?

Whatever, I don't have time to be thinking about that. Which way was it to the manor? If I can just find the lanterns that line the outside of the edifice, I should be fine.

Oh wait. It's seventeen-sixty-five right now. That means no renovations have been made to the manor, so it's entirely possible that the place is in shambles right now- which means there'd be no lights or anything outside of it, and even if I could make it to the place, no one would let me in.

Stop thinking so negatively, Helen! You can get out of this, I know you can! Let's just- let's just stop panicking and think for a moment.

I hear footsteps.

Oh, wonderful! Maybe it's a hunter or something. That's great, I can totally play a sympathy card and get them to take me to safety! Unless it's some kind of scary, pedophile, rapist man. In that case I'm probably screwed. Oh my god, what if it's some kind of escaped convict out in the middle of nowhere? Oh man, it could be anyone! It could be Haytham Kenway for all I know, out to snuff Achilles in his quest to end the Assassins!

A twig snaps, and I detect a low growl.

Um…maybe it isn't Haytham. Maybe it's a tribe of local Indians out for my scalp!

Another growl, and something that sounds like panting.

Alright. I think I've officially got bigger problems than Indians right now. I spin around (painfully) and am not surprised to note the many pairs of golden eyes fixed upon my being.

I have not come this far to be devoured by wolves.

An electric current pulses through my body and I throw myself into action. For the first time in my life, I'm going to climb a tree. It's the closest thing, and I know somewhere in the back of my mind that wolves can't climb. They can't, can they?

I break into a run and my canine predators do the same. Completely oblivious to the pain my ankle, I leap onto the nearest trunk and wrap my arms around the bark. I shimmy up just as a set of jaws snaps around my dress hem, pulling a large amount of the fabric away. I shriek from fear and exhilaration, using the adrenaline to push myself further up.

I'm sliding, though. I can't keep this hold! Oh god, am I really going to die like this? This is so pathetic! I'm about six feet off the ground, and only a centimeter or two from the wolves' biting range!

No, no, it's not ending like this! There's a branch just a foot or so above me- I think I can make it. I tighten my grip and hoist with all my upper-body-strength (nonexistent, that is, but hey, you can accomplish a lot of with death at your feet).

Agony rips through my ankle and I cry out, hot tears smelting my eyes. I glance down, half-expecting to see a dog suspended from my foot, but no- the pain originated from my attempts to climb. Apparently, the sprain is much more serious than I'd thought. I think I'm really close to a fracture here.

The wolves have begun to bark at me, while others still scrape at the trunk with their paws. All in all, this situation is not pleasing to the senses in any way.

Ok, I grunt, I've reached the branch! I'm hanging about ten feet off the ground now, out of reach of the animals. Goodness, now I've become the rabbit. And there's no beautiful, sweet, kindness-prone young woman to save my ass! Talk about unfair.

Girl. You have more problems to worry about right now. Focus.

My grip is certainly much better here than it was on the trunk, but I don't know how long I can keep it up. There's a chance I can wait the wolves out, but with it being seventeen-sixty-five and all, there's no one to come to my rescue. No one lives here, it's all wilderness. Great. I make a plan and it backfires me to hell.

Well, at the very least let's try to get a better position.

I inch forward, slowly. One movement at a time. If I can just cross my legs and arms under the tree's limb, I might be able to lay down my head. If I can do that, I can sleep. If I can sleep, I can wait these guys out and level a strategy.

Oh, yeah, falling asleep with a pack of wolves howling at you is no biggie for me. Seriously. I've got fifteen younger cousins.

Alright, this is good! I've crossed my legs under the branch (MUCH to my ankle's screaming protest), and I'm now completely parallel to the limb. If I can just reach forward a little bit more-

What's that creaking noise?

…Is it my imagination, or am I dipping.

What.

And then there's the crack. That is the moment I become aware that I am upside-down.

I can't help hollering as I plunge towards the earth. Through sheer luck, I stick my hands in the air and grasp opposite ends of the now splintered branch. Its other half falls, teasing a pained yelp from one of my tormentors. Heh, heh.

A snap at my heels and I'm focused again. I forgot how high these guys can leap! Ok, we need to hoist ourselves up one more time…!

Oh, god, my arms are practically bleeding from the inside. They're in agony trying to pull my weight onto this damned tree!

But, I do it. Okay, I'm now wedged in the v-shaped crook of the thing, with the trunk running higher into the air and my fractured sanctuary splitting off to the right. I breathe a sigh of relief, but this isn't over yet. This isn't the best spot- I hardly even fit in it. My right leg is dangling out of the crook. I won't be able to stay here long term, and that's what I'll need to do. If I lose my balance up here for even a moment, I'll go toppling for sure. And I did NOT come this far to be dinner!

I scan my surroundings desperately, squinting into the darkness to come up with any sort of solution. It's so black out here now that I can't even see the wolves. Everything is by sound and touch now.

Except…

The moonlight outlines its shape like a shimmering sleeve. A thick, sturdy branch, within jumping distance! Not bendable like the previous one! Oh, yeah, I'll be safe up there! It looks so comfortable, and it's plenty high up! Someone's not going to be wolf-chow tonight!

All I need to do is climb to my feet. That's easy, I've got the trunk here for support. I lean both my hands on its choppy surface and push, groaning to move into a standing position-

And then things become very strange for me.

There's a very brief flash of pain- more like a prick than anything else. Then, there's this sound, like a cracker snapping in half. My first thought was, 'crackers? Yum'.

But then I didn't get to think about that, because everything went blank. The lights just turned off. What little there was to see disappeared entirely. My eyes were wide open, but they took nothing in. I felt…surprised. In shock, I suppose. Confused, adrift. What just happened to me?

And then I was falling.


	11. I Leap Out Of Trees For Fun

There's a light. It's vaguely reddish, but still wholesome and pale, like a light should be. It's the last thing I'm aware of before the colors all collide into some horrible kaleidoscope with me trapped inside. I can't move my arms or legs- I can barely feel anything at all. My skin is moist and rubbery. I blink once, twice. The movement is the most difficult thing I've ever done.

Something loud is rushing in my ears, like a gale or a motor or a train headed straight at me. But I can almost detect a voice somewhere in that storm…

"…ear me?"

I think that's what it said. Who's talking? Where are you? I blink a few more times, exerting an incredible amount of effort. Am I on the ground? How did I get there? Where am I?

"Hello?"

The cacophony of noise begins to abate, replaced by the erratic rhythm of my own breathing. Yes. In, out. In, out. That is how we push air through our lungs. Good job!

As soon as I master my breathing, my eyes tingle. One more blink, and colors seep back into their natural boundaries. Things are still swimming, but now I see a face peering into mine, white skin glowing in the aura of a lantern.

It's a woman, I'm pretty sure. She opens her mouth to speak, but I can't hear what she says. In fact, all this focusing has practically exhausted me. If I could just lay back a bit more…

A singular sensation plunges through my barriers of numbness- it's harsh and it stings. The woman has slapped me, and my lids fly up in response.

"Listen," She tells me sternly.

It's not like I have a choice in the matter. Her eyes are like fiery coals, and I notice a single curl of hair fold in towards her face. Huh, funny that the one curl is like that, but the rest of her hair is tied back. I wish I could pull it. That'd be so much fun…

"…need to snap it into place, alright?"

What?

"On the count of three."

What's happening on the count of three?

The face shimmies out of view, and I'm left staring up into darkness again. What did she say, what's goi-

"Three!"

What happened to one and two!

That horrid snapping sound is the last thing I hear before my lingering senses finally leave.

-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-

Something smells funny. It's kind of sweet at first, but there's this moldy tang that follows-

Oh, I know what this smell is! It's mothballs.

I take another whiff for confirmation and draw back coughing. Yep; definitely mothballs.

So, where am I?

I open my eyes one at a time. From the basic position of my body, I acknowledge that I'm lying down. The mothball odor is rising from the bed I occupy (which is lumpy enough to qualify as dough). I'm also sort of afraid to examine the pillow my head rests on, as while it seems to be feather-stuffed, its case is riddled with holes and…well, probably tics.

I shudder. It's really about time I got home.

I'm about to study the rest of my surroundings when I become aware of some muffled voices floating through the air.

I freeze, not daring to move a muscle in case the conversation is interrupted. Their words are just slurred enough that I can't understand them, but there are two definitive voices- one is sharp, female- it sounds vaguely familiar, like something I heard in a dream once…the other is very soft. At first I'm not even sure it's a voice, it sounds as quiet as rustling drapes. Maybe the speaker is hoarse?

Someone says something about a, 'constitution of stone'. They mention the number nineteen, somebody chuckles, something about 'still good'…what's that supposed to mean? This is so frustrating. I hate being left out on a good joke.

But then, without any warning at all, the door of my dark room begins to open.

A spiky ball of nerves drops into my stomach and my pulse quickens. Acting instinctively, I yank the bed's stale covers up and over myself just as lamplight floods the room.

Good! I don't think they know I'm here!

"Hello?"

It's drapes-voice. Still, I swear I've heard this whispery intonation before…when it speaks again, it almost sounds amused.

"Anyone home?"

No! Nope, there's no one here. Ha ha, just your imagination, old man- old man…? How did I-

A tuft of dust lodges itself in my nostril and I sneeze without a second thought.

The old man chuckles, or possibly sighs, it's hard to tell under these stinky blankets. But, uh, he probably already knows I'm sitting here, so…guess there's not much point in hiding anymore.

"I see what she meant…"

I watch from a hole in the fabric as he eases himself into a chair. He smiles, or maybe grimaces.

"…You are a small one, at least by comparison. I won't hurt you, though, don't fear."

Cautiously, I allow the quilts to crumble around me. The room is much lighter now, with a pair of candles burning at the door and a hand candelabrum beside the bed. My eyes wander to my visitor, and now I remember why his voice was so familiar.

His skin is dark and wrinkled, sort of like a person-shaped raisin. But when our gazes meet, I see in his visage great amounts of wisdom and experience. The hairs on my arms stand on end. I flush and look away, embarrassed by my childishness.

"So," he begins, shifting in his chair to achieve a more comfortable position, "you've suffered quite a fall."

His accents have a very calming effect, and the anxiety I felt earlier is diffused a little. He's easy to talk to, this raisin-guy.

"Yeah, that's me," I reply, "I leap out of trees for fun."

He laughs at that, which catches me off guard. At first I think it's because I'm just so funny, but when I focus, it becomes clear he knows something I don't. Well, he's just full of inside jokes- that much has already been established.

The old man's laughter rumbles into a cough. I take the moment to sit up, so we might converse a bit easier.

But at that moment a lasso of fire latches around my ankle and squeezes tight, shooting flames of agony up my veins.

Ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch ouch dear lord I think I'll just die here I don't think legs were intended ever to hurt this much oh god what did I DO to myself

"Yes, well, maybe it's time you retired that hobby."

I suck in my breath between clenched teeth and turn to the old man, my whole face red and burning.

"How bad is it?" I squeak pitieously.

He folds his hands together, and for the first time I notice the cane he's been holding onto.

"Bad," he attests, "the ankle is largely fractured, and a few shards of bone have been removed."

This must be what it feels like to be a sheet of paper.

I didn't know that white was a feeling.

I think I'm really dizzy.

He took out a piece of my BONE? As in inside of my body? BONES.

One of my bones splintered and he had to take it out. In the eighteenth century. Holy crap I'm going to die of infection. I'm going to die. I'm going to die from a swollen ankle.

Aaaaaaaaaaaa…

"The marrow will regenerate, with rest and a proper diet," Who even cares what he's saying anymore? "but Doctor Lyle advises that you not pressure it for at least a week."

A week.

So I can't get out of this bed for a week.

My head hits the pillow forcibly enough to pulverize even the tics.

"'Constitution of stone' indeed." I hear the raisin-man mutter.

Aaaa…aaaaaa…a week? A week, in this lumpy, doughy, insect-ridden pustule of a bed! With no running water, no toilet, no shower, no electricity- nothing? I can't do it!

"I suppose I should introduce myself," He clears his throat, and my head drifts towards him, allotting fifteen-percent of my attention.

"You may call me Achilles."

"Ok," I say, utterly numb. "Achilles."

"And what may I call you?"

I stare at the ceiling. I think I spy a cobweb hanging above me.

"Helen."

"In that case, Helen, I will leave you to rest- however, there is one small thing we must discuss before that."

Oh come on- look, why would you say you're going to leave if you're NOT going to leave?

My eyes slide to the side of my face in order to glare at him, since rotating my skull would be too much work.

But when he presents my digital camera, I'm forced to show a bit more interest.

"This fell out of the tree along with you," Achilles explains, his expression unreadable. "I want to know what it is."

I can't take much more of this… I prepared in advance for this moment, but my mind is so scattered I can't even add two and two. What exactly am I supposed to tell him, the truth?

Well…why not?

"Okay, look," I grunt as I prop myself up by my elbows. I'm careful not to bring my torso vertical- I only lean towards Achilles enough for him to give me one hand on the camera.

"I'm only going to explain this once, so listen good, alright?"

I press the 'on' button. The camera beeps and the scope deploys, the screen welcoming us monotonously. I show Achilles the basic functions of an image recorder, as well as a few of the shots I took for the Homestead commission. The whole ordeal takes about five minutes.

"There, now you know what it is," I say, "happy?"

Achilles' eyes are wide and white, with small pupils in the center like dots of coal on a snowman. He swallows, then trains his stare on me. He looks at me for a long, long time, during which I start to get hungry. Finally he asks:

"Are you…human?"

"…Yes," I answer slowly, drawing out the middle of the word.

"And this invention," He holds up the camera with a trembling hand, "could it be a-a relic of those who came before?"

It takes me a few seconds to get what he's saying. But when I do, I laugh. I laugh pretty hard. Oh man, he thinks I'm like…haha, he thinks I'm like an alien or something- no, no, dude, I'm just from the future, ha ha. That's great…yeah…yeah, he's gonna burn me for witchcraft or something now, I just bet.

"No, no, it's not anything like that," I answer, leaning back into the bed. It's not so uncomfortable anymore, and my leg doesn't hurt that much. In fact, I'm really tired, and I'd like to go to sleep. Sleep would be fantastic right now.

"It is my property, though, so…will you give it back soon?"

Achilles nods mutely, and that's all the affirmation I need.

"Okay then," I yawn and twist in the sheets, nestling my head further into the moldy pillow, "goo'night, see ya in the morning."

I don't think Achilles had even moved from the chair by the time I fell asleep.

But…

One strange thought occurs to me before my lids droop shut completely. And that was…

Did he say Doctor Lyle White?


	12. A Floor Is Better Than A Buggy Bed

I am teased awake by the soft warbles of forest birds. The air buzzes and a breeze barely snakes around my fingers- it feels as though I'm outside.

My eyelids raise themselves one at a time. I'm not outside, but I'm not in familiar territory either. This small room, with its peeling paper and lumpy bed, doesn't ring any bells at all. There's a window to my right, with its panels flung open so that the morning is broadcast directly to my ears.

I take a deep breath as another birdcall bounces into the room. The air smells so much nicer up…wherever I am.

Feeling refreshed, I sit up and push the covers down around my waist-

And that is when I see it.

Resting on the inside of the quilt, which had been lying on my chest only a second ago, there is a great, long centipede. It's close enough that I can count the individual pairs of way-too-many-freaking-legs, and the baubles that the abomination can call eyes. I'd put this little fella at roughly seven inches long, with hairy flagella sticking out at the ends to make him appear even longer.

For a moment, we merely stare at each other. The centipede stays so still you'd hardly even notice he was there. Adrenaline bursts into my bloodstream like a string of firecrackers.

And then…he moves.

He moves at the speed of freaking light!

I can't help it. This disgusting, horrid arthropod is charging towards me, centimeters from my face, so close I can practically HEAR the scuttling of its atrocious appendages-

I scream in terror and throw myself from the bed, crashing onto the floor with a loud thud.

About three second pass before I seriously regret that decision. I don't know who stuck a blazing fire poker in my foot, but they should think about removing it. Preferably now. Before I vomit.

There's a sharp crack as the door of my room flies open and a young woman enters, armed with a pot.

"Madam? Are you alright, Madam?"

The girl looks around frantically, apparently disturbed at the sight of the empty bed.

I grit my teeth and reply, "Down here."

She's beside me in an instant, placing the pot on the floor.

"Are you alright?" She repeats, dark eyebrows drawn together, "What happened, Madam?"

"Bug." I quip, struggling into a sitting position.

"A bug?" The girl's frown deepens, "What do you mean?"

"I mean a really, really big-ass bug!" I hiss, more out of horror than frustration. I mean, that thing is awful! It's grotesque! It's a freak of nature!

She stays silent for a moment, and her lips press together.

Suddenly, the centipede darts across the floor!

"There! There he is, see him!"

"Aye!"

A splintering smack, and the great villain is no more.

My shoulders collapse and I slump with relief.

"Thanks," I tell her earnestly, "Boy, was that a nightmare…"

"I suppose," she answers, shrugging as she fits her boot back over her foot, "there was a time when I also feared insects, but one adjusts quickly on the frontier."

I nod, and we sit quietly as she straps the laces on her footwear. She's a cute girl, with pale skin and soft brown eyes. A cap tilts precariously on her head, with curls of auburn hair peeping out of it.

"Did it bite you, Madam?" She wonders, a touch of worry in her tone.

"Hm? Oh no, I'm fine. And, er, could you stop calling me 'madam'? It makes me feel old."

She smiles.

"Very well. What shall I call you?"

The way she phrases the question triggers some distant nagging in my head. As though I've forgotten something very important. But I'm not in the mood to be bothered by if's and should have's, so I reply:

"'Helen' is fine."

"I'm Maria," The girl says, extending a hand. I take it, and she helps me stand.

At first she guides me back towards the bed, but I've had enough arthropodic adventures this morning. Eventually, we reach a compromise and she swats the mattress, assuring me that there are no more demons in waiting. Then I take a seat, and she explains:

"The old man said you aren't to move for at least a day."

Old man, I wonder? I do remember something about an old guy with a reedy voice. Did he tell me his name was Achilles?

Hold on- a day?

"I'm not allowed to move for a whole day?" I exclaim, eyebrows climbing to my hairline.

"Well," Maria shifts, averting her eyes; "you aren't supposed to put any weight on your leg at all, actually. I'm not sure why- but the doctor will be in to see you soon, I think."

Something about this doctor-person irked me before. Urgh, my head is so foggy- why can't I remember anything important! It's like I've got a bunch of complex chunks and pieces, but the puzzle's picture is a simple rubber duck!

I can't worry about all this now; I've got a more important problem to deal with.

"So wait a second," I tell her, pausing to take a breath. I resume, "if I'm not allowed to move, how am I supposed to brush my teeth? Use the bathr- uh, outhouse?"

Is that right, outhouse? Wait, would I seriously need to use one while I'm here? No way- if I could just find the cabinet in the stables, I could get home-

Waaaaaaaaaait a minute…

Maria is fumbling with my question, but it's been dropped right out of my mind. Because thinking about the cabinet has reared one, extremely, vitally crucial fact:

I adjusted the wardrobe to bring me to the Homestead _in seventeen-sixty-five. _According to my notes, the Homestead was completely abandoned back then- it was just Achilles sitting around in his basement, moping, by himself.

So what's this about a doctor? And Maria- she looks no older than fifteen, sixteen tops. No way she's here on her own and Achilles just happens to let her stay-

Actually, he's been really nice to me, too. Huh. It's not his character to just take in stupid girls with head-diving fetishes. The only reason he hasn't tossed me out of the manor with a 'good luck' is-

-Because the decision is not his to make.

I frown deeply. Something is very wrong here.

"Madam?" Maria leans closer, concerned.

"Maria," I begin, pinning her with a discerning stare, "how did you come to live here?"

She blinks, but soon answers easily enough.

"Er, I was born in New York. For most of my life, I dwelt there with my mother and father. But-"

Maria hesitates, and something like fear flickers across her face.

"My father was quite…mean to us- to my mother and me. He has an awful temper, and sometimes he would drive Mama from the house!"

This is sounding conspicuously like a story that shouldn't happen for another ten years. I narrow my eyes, but nod for her to continue.

"Last year," Maria swallows, "Mama decided she'd finally had enough. She told me to pack my things and that we were leaving New York for good! But Papa- he- he must've known our plans, because he found us."

A crack appears in my intense concentration. Oh, the poor girl! My lip quivers just watching her relive the experience. I rest my hand on hers and press gently- I would like to hug her, but I don't think she'd appreciate that. Oh, Maria, you poor kid! Come here and let me love you. She looks like a rabbit in a snare-

-which I've seen a few of lately.

With some encouragement and a weak smile, Maria goes on with her story. She's just about to get to the part I know I shouldn't be hearing.

"Papa caught Mama in the middle of the road and scolded her. He told us to go back home, but Mama said we wouldn't. Papa got so mad. He struck her!"

Maria pales, and I assure her that I'm listening. Wow, she actually looks like she's been wanting to come to terms with this for a long time. Maybe I could join the Homestead as a psychiatrist…

"I-I couldn't just watch; I had to do something! But the way Papa looked at me, I knew I'd be next. So-so I ran away, screaming to anyone I could find for help- but no one would come. No one, until…"

"Until?"

THIS SHOULDN'T BE HERE! THIS ISN'T RIGHT! She's going to start talking about Connor now, isn't she? But she shouldn't be!

Maria swallows again, but to me it seems her mouth is dry. When she speaks next, the frantic tones are cured from her voice, and now she sounds admiring.

"One man listened. He was tall, big; strong- I was almost afraid to go near him at all. But his voice was so gentle; I knew at once he would aid us. He stopped my father, and asked my mother to work here as a tailor." Maria smiles and a spark of relief twinkles in her eyes, "Mama was so grateful for the work, and that man has protected us ever since."

Could I have gotten the dates wrong? That sounds like something I'd do. Maybe I wrote seventeen-seventy-five instead of sixty-five… but even if I did, it'd still be wrong. If Maria's about to say what I think she is, then this is seventeen-seventy-six, earliest!

"Maria," I say cautiously, "what's the name of the man who helped you?"

She replies, "He calls himself Connor."

Well, shit. That settles it. I'm definitely in the wrong stretch of time. Maybe if I'd known all that, I wouldn't have shown Achilles the camera (no harm in showing the old hermit a trinket he'd forget in ten years time), but that was a dumb move anyway, so I don't know why I did it. Doesn't matter. Pretty soon Connor will burst through the door and demand I tell him where Charles Lee is, because clearly I know, since I have a shiny, futuristic device.

Maria must've noticed me chewing my lips, because she asks:

"Why? Do you recognize the name?"

I sigh and answer truthfully.

"You could say that."

-CCCCCCCCC-

Days pass about as quickly as decades in the olden days. I can't even begin to explain all the tribulations I had to go through simply to empty my bladder. Then there was bathing, which evidently is something people only do annually around here (poor Maria couldn't understand why I'd ever want to do it twice in one week).

I wasn't permitted to get out of bed for the next six hours, but I finally met Doctor Lyle White (or just 'Doctor Lyle', as he purposefully drove a finger into my ankle when I called him 'Doctor White'). He seemed half-wasted when he explained that my foot would heal, but only if it stayed tightly wrapped and unused. When he finally wobbled out of the room, I took my blanket and slept on the floor.

Maria looked after me for the days I was there, and I have nothing but good words to say about her. She's a curious, fine-mannered young woman, and she took me under her wing as a responsibility she had to fulfill. If there was anything I needed, she tried to get it for me. I only wish I could've done something in return- in fact, I wasn't comfortable with the way I was treated at all. Everyone was too nice! I was in the wrong; I was imposing. When I wasn't cringing in pain, I sulked in miserable guilt on the floor.

I didn't touch the bed again.

Achilles stayed out of my sight for the rest of the week. Whenever I thought about how stupidly I'd shown him my camera, I'd feel a panging in my stomach and nausea would creep up my throat. I think he was in shock afterwards. There's no telling what he'll do now. It's clear that he's waiting for Connor to decide what to do with me, but I haven't seen Connor around either. And it's not like I can just ask about them like we're great friends (even though we are, mentally), unless I'm alright with an interrogation.

I'm not, by the way.

In any event, I have lots of problems to keep me busy this Monday afternoon. So, I don't think much of crawling into my nest of quilts on the floor and taking a nap (though my back is smarting something sharp at this point).

I'm jostled awake by a light rapping on the door. Huh, I'd have thought Maria was comfortable enough with me to just walk in by now. But who am I to correct her manners- oh, I love that girl.

"Come on in," I call, grinning. Maybe she brought me food, or a piece of her mother's sewing!

I met her mother earlier, by the way. Maria helped me around on crutches and we went up to see the tailor. Excellent woman, very beautiful- and creative! Ah, what a family. If I have to stay here, I'm glad I get to stay with Ellen and her daughter, no matter how awkward our conversations get.

Now, I can't quite see who's entering the room because I'm on the floor next to the bed. So it's totally understandable that I still think it's Maria.

Except…the footsteps are a little heavy to belong to a fifteen-year-old girl… And they stop almost immediately. The door closes, but I hear something tightening- something taut, like leather.

A male voice says:

"Hello?"

And my blood runs cold, because that's not Maria.

That's Connor Kenway.


End file.
